Tsutsui Kimihiro, Doormat Extrodinare
by Azael
Summary: Tsutsui's play on life, where his dream job is exhausting, and the man he thought he'd finally gotten out of his brain suddenly makes a re entrance when things were starting to go so well. Kaga x Tsutsui
1. Chapter 1

I learnt more about Shindo Hikaru and Touya Akira's love lives while standing outside their door that I had ever wanted or needed to.

I arrived, bright and early, just a few minutes shy or our assigned interview time, and smartly rang the doorbell. I shift my folder from my right arm to my left as I listen in vain for any noise in the apartment beyond. Just as I reach once more for the ringer, I hear someone murmuring.

Another, slightly deeper voice groans in response.

"I said, Hikaru, can you get the door?"

A muttered comment.

A sigh. "Hikaru, I can't get the door, you're on my hair."

Another groan.

"What was that?" the voice that I have identified as Touya's asks acidly.

"I said:" the second voice yells, finally in hearing range, "That's because you have too much!"

A solid thump ensues, followed by a curse.

"Goddamnit, I'm going!" Hikaru screams.

"Aah! Hikaru, don't open the door yet!"

"What?! You just asked me to!"

"You're not wearing any pants, baka!"

"I left them by the bed, hand me them!"

"Those are mine!"

"Same difference!"

"You're not wearing my pants!"

"I've worn them before, just hand them over!!"

At this stage, I am unsure whether to breakdown laughing, or feel embarrassed that the two don't realise just how un-soundproof their apartment is.

Hikaru curses again, as the mentioned item of clothing is, knowing Akira's temper, thrown at his head. There's a distinct zipper noise, then the door shudders open. Hikaru throws me a disinterested glance, then turns around to scream at his rival. 

"Oi! Akira! It's that reporter, get your ass out here!"

Hikaru turns around to face me, a lot taller than he used to be, but essentially just a more mature version of the boy I knew in junior high, then double takes. "Tsutsui!!!"

His entire face lights up, and he grabs me by the arm, and yanks me into their gargantuan apartment.

My glasses slide down my nose as I take it all in. They've been doing well for themselves. The apartment is large enough for four normal sized ones, with one large room down the bottom, which is the kitchen, the dining room, the living room and just pain living space, with huge windows that lead onto a veranda with a view out over suburbia. I guess that the bedroom is up the ladder to the little loft area by the windows, which is surrounded by black metal railings. A door presumably leading to the bathroom is under the loft, and the floor itself is stepped, with many tiny level differences. 

"My god! I haven't seen you since… You're working for Weekly Go! That's so cool!"

Hikaru abruptly stops blathering, then curses yet again. "I'll… go put on a shirt…"

The peroxide blonde turns around, scuttles across the floor away from me, and then hurtles up the ladder like a monkey. He disappears from view for a second, then comes back to the railing clasping a t-shirt in one hand. "Um… make yourself comfortable!"

Hikaru steps away from the railing, and abruptly starts walking down. I can only assume that there are stairs leading into the bathroom. That, or he's learnt how to defy the laws of physics. Could be either, really, after the sheer amount of time, or lack thereof, for the bright boy to become something as prestigious as a Pro. It can take some people decades, but Shindo managed it in less than five years. 

"Hey Touya! Tsutsui's interviewing us!"

"What? Hikaru, get out!"

"Oh please, not like I haven't seen you getting changed before,"

"We have a guest out there! Please tell me you didn't just leave him standing…" There is stark silence for a few seconds, then Akira makes a frustrated noise. The door on the bottom floor clatters open, and a flustered looking Touya bursts into view, his thin fingers working his black hair back into a ponytail.

If anyone surprises me with how they turn out, it's Akira. For one thing, he's stopped looking like his mother dresses him, daring to wear a pair of jeans with a white dress shirt, and he's grown out his hair, but left his fringe at the same length. His shoulders are broader, and he's grown about a head, and, surprisingly looks like the eighteen year old that he actually is, instead of an overgrown girl. 

"Kimihiro-san, I apologise for our lack of organization," he says, striding towards me, "Hikaru and I were… late to bed last night."

I nod, trying to look like the professional that I desperately don't feel like. It must be some form of hazing, to give the new guy two people as impossible as these Touya Akira and Shindo Hikaru. Separate might be fine, but trying to interview the two of them, is turning out to be like trying to catch wind in a net. So far, I haven't even succeeded in getting the two in the same room. I smile, and try to make it look genuine. "That's alright, my boss doesn't need me back until twelve."

Akira nods, then motions for me to sit down, before taking a place opposite me on a sleek leather couch. "So, how long have you been working for Weekly Go?"

"I've been working behind the scenes for a few months now. This is my first independent assignment."

Akira nods seriously, looking rather embarrassed. His turns his head, and, switching personalities, yells "HIKARU! What's taking so long!?"

The poor abused bathroom door burst open again, and Shindo storms out, a toothbrush hanging from the corner of his mouth.  "I'm here!"

Taking that as my cue, I place the tape recorder on top of their coffee table cum-goban, and collect my notes and list of questions from inside my official-looking folder. 

"Okay, to start it all off…" I trail off to stare at the toothbrush that Hikaru is chewing in the corner of his mouth. "How did this all start?"

One hour, and two cups of green tea later, I stumble out of their apartment, as yet another petty argument ensues. This one is about the last question I asked. 'Is there anything you'd like to say about your partner?'

Hikaru had grinned widely, and squeezed Akira's shoulders. "He's mine."

Akira had raised an eyebrow, and retaliated with "I only took him because no one else wanted him."

I left, apologising, as the two ignored me, and made my way slowly back to the bus station.

I typed up what I had discovered, still suffering from shell-shock, and left in the early evening to get some cheap-but-cheerful soba at a nearby stand. Walking for three blocks, a subway and two trains and yet more walking finds me at my apartment building. I reshoulder my backpack, which looks a little strange with my somewhat cheap business suit, which is still, somehow, the most expensive article of clothing that I have ever bought. I troop inside; check my mailbox dutifully, before sighing wearily and trooping past the levator and into the fire escape. I really don't trust that lift. It squeaks, groans, shudders, stops between floors, and is all and all a waste of the space used to make it. Everyone with any sense, from the geriatrics on level four to the pregnant mother on the sixth floor take the stairs. I'm very thankful that I live on the third floor. 

Trooping upstairs, I fish my key out of my pocket, and lament over my living so far away from the main office. 

I work for Go Weekly, this is good, this has been my life-long dream, and I love the work. But the hours are murder. I barely get home before nine, and then I collapse in bed and sleep until five, at which point I wake up, totter into the shower, shove some food into my mouth and stumble out into the world in time to get the seven o'clock train. I swear, sometime soon, I'm going to keel over from scurvy. I don't know when the last time I had a nutritious meal was. 

I stuff the key into the lock, and open my door, kicking my shoes off, and dumping my bag by the door.

"Welcome home,"

I look up, not smiling. "You again."

"Gee, so nice to feel loved. Next time, remind me to just jump you."

I raise an eyebrow at my guest, and peel off my jacket. "Next time, remind me to get my lock changed."

Not like that would stop him. The only reason why Kaga has a copy of my apartment key, is because otherwise he'd just pick the lock, or come through the fire escape. The only way to stop scaring my neighbours, and allow my strange friend to visit whenever he chooses, was to just give him the damn key. 

"Touché."

I walk over to the sink, and fill up a cup with water from a pitcher in my fridge, drain that.  "So, is there a specific purpose for your being here?"

One of Kaga's strong arms winds around my waist, and the other brushes my hair off the side of my neck so he can nibble at it, before trailing around to fiddle with the button of my trousers. Kaga replies, in a husky voice, "Oh, I think you know why I'm here,"

"You're using me again?"

"I've been using you since high school. You haven't seemed to mind so far,"

He goes back to bothering my neck as his hand finally undoes the button of my pants, and reaches for the zipper. 

I envy Hikaru and Akira. They have a stable relationship. I don't know what I have. I have Kaga part-time, shared about amongst about three other girlfriends at last count. 

Kaga presses me back against the sheets of my bed, surrounded by the heady smell of musk and cigarettes that makes up the scent of Kaga. His spiky hair brushes my chin as he showers attention upon my neck again, which seems to be his favourite place to torture. I wrap my legs around his waist and rock my hips upwards into his, making us both gasp. I vow to get rid of my pants.

Hikaru and Akira live together. I live alone in my apartment, and Kaga lives alone in his. Sometimes though, it seems that he's living more at my place. Hence the key. Hikaru and Akira are open about their relationship. I don't even think I have a relationship, and my parents and friends just think I'm sad, and haven't found the right girl. 

Kaga does the honours, pulling my light grey trousers down and off my hips as I lift them off the sheets, and then down my legs to discard them off the side of the bed. My boxers follow suit, as a demonic smirk spreads across my friend's face. I guess I'll be getting to bed later than I had expected tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, sorry I forgot to say anything at the start of the first chatper, and sorry for the long wait as well! _'

The pipes in the walls of the bathroom clank as I turn off the shower, and groan as I turn on the faucet in the sink. I splash water on my face, then look blearily up at my reflection. I haven't changed much, I just look wearier since I left school. Maybe a little jaded. My hair's a little longer, my glasses are less chunky, but I'm still a nerd who's obsessed with a game he sucks at, and I'm still a sucker.

It's true what he said; Kaga's been 'using' me since high school. It's just been… I don't know. We're just friends that play around a bit. He's got a girlfriend, several, from what I hear, and I've just moved on myself. Kaga just appears from time to time, sometimes every few nights, sometimes not appearing for months, sometimes just to hang out, sometimes more. I guess I don't really, mind, it's better than nothing, and I do enjoy it at the time. He's got less emotional attachments than an actual girlfriend, and doesn't want to hear that I love him every five minutes, like my last girlfriend of six months. 

I walk out of the steamy bathroom, a towel around my waist, and stare down at my bedmate. 

Kaga has, I must admit turned out to be quite a hunk of man-flesh.  He's a lot taller, but has retained the skinny, wiry form he's had since I first met him. He's all smooth skin and evil smirks, with biting humour and a wonderfully clever mind that he never seems to exploit. As far as I can tell, Kaga's in his second year of a law course, and bored stiff. Honestly. Everything that has anything to do with learning bores him stiff, and he still comes out with some of the best marks in the grade for everything he does.

I dredge out the toaster and start roasting some bread that I find in the pantry, hoping that the smell of something cooking will dredge Kaga out of his oblivious slumber, but as he's nowhere near stirring when I finish and are putting my breakfast things away, I just start preparing for work.

I entertain the thought of just waking Kaga to say goodbye as a pause at the door, but then dismiss the thought as pointless.

Getting an interview done is all well and good, but then you have to cut out the clag, or in this case, petty arguments, and then get everything that you keep into a workable article. I'm supposed to make Hikaru and Akira sound like the hip, young, intellectual and snazzy couple that the Go world seems to think they are. I can't still help but think of them as the idiotic middle-school kids that I once knew (chasing each other with all their might, talking through the window of the Go room and practically giving me a seizure when I realise what's happening and continuing to scare me with their raw determination, the kind that only a child set on some prize can summon up) which isn't helping one shred.

I can't make things seem too formal, but I can't make myself seem too familiar with the subjects, even if I do happen to be on first-name basis. It's an annoying line I'm trying to tread when I'm called into my boss's office.

Amano-san's office isn't really an office, we're a relatively small-time paper, so it's more a part of the main office floor that's been sectioned off with those moveable walls covered in carpet. Everyone pins their finished articles to one side of it, then those are taken off again to be proofread, and placed properly ready to be printed. Another of the three walls hosts announcements and flyers for Go tournaments, while the other one is the notice board, which is usually covered with various humorous and ironic pictures that people have found on the internet and strange quotes. We take our work so seriously. Our office is basically a huge room filled by ten nerdy men, a closet-sized kitchen that has the bare-necessities to make instant coffee and cook dried noodles (a kettle and a few bent spoons; people supply their own mugs) and a bathroom that's even smaller that's always occupied just when you need it. There's computers, televisions, half-dead pot plants with various humorous/uninspired names, paper and other bits of flotsam and jetsam everywhere, making the huge room seem cramped. I guess it's just a normal, low-budget office. 

I tap on the side of one of the walls as I poke my head around the corner, and Amano-san smiles genially and beckons me in.

"Don't knock too hard, you might push it over."

I smile cautiously, still the nervous rookie who isn't quite sure what to expect.

"Well now, Kimihiro-san, I just finished listening to the tape of your interview with Shindo-san and Touya-san. I didn't realise that you already knew them,"

"Well, I was Shindo's senpai in our middle-school Go club."

He blinks in surprise, his small eyes widening with disbelief behind his glasses. "_You_ are the legendary senpai that set up the Go club single-handedly which started Shindo Hikaru on his career in the Go world?"

It's my turn to look surprised. "Well, I wouldn't put it quite that way…"

"Jeez, Kimihiro, you should have told me that! I would have set you on those two earlier! Well then, that's decided your next job."

"Pardon?"

His man's leaps of logic go straight over my head.

"I want you to host a dinner-party. Invite our prestigious couple, and tell them to invite all their friends. You know Pros; they have no lives outside Go. They're friends are almost certain to be Pros as well. It's a good chance to start making connections, connections that can serve you well later in your career."

Amano-san's practically drooling. Evidently, this is a good thing. Amano-san lifts himself out of his chair, and shoves me back out into the rest of the office from behind. "I want you to finish that article, and be out of here by six so you can start making arrangements!"

"Erm, yes, sir!"

"Good boy. Go at it!"

I walk carefully back to my desk and sit down, suddenly dumbfounded. That was… sudden, to say the least. I haven't even finished my first assignment, when I'm suddenly supposed to hold a shindig-to-end-all-shindigs for the movers and shakers of the Go world. Only one thought can occur to me right now, 'not in my apartment.'

I pick up the telephone on my desk, and pull out my address book, to make sure I don't call Antarctica instead of who I mean to. I enter the number, then hold the phone to my ear with my shoulder so I can continue to type. 

"Yeah?"

"Kaga? It's me. I—"

"Tsutsui? _You're_ calling me? Has the world come to a sudden halt or something?"

"Very funny, dude, but I've kinda got a bit of a dilemma on my hands."

"So something serious _has_ happened?"

"Potentially. Look, can you pick me up in half an hour or so?"

"Maybe, but—"

"Seriously Kaga, I'm begging you. You get my ass for a week if you do this for me."

There's a slight pause in the conversation.

"Right, half an hour, you say?"

"Yes, from my work. You know where that is?"

"Yeah. I'll be there; early even."

"Great. See ya."

I put the phone down, and smile wryly. That's the good thing about having a friend like Kaga, I can offer him things like that seriously, and feel no remorse for it, even though I know how strange the conversation might sound. Plus, it's good to know that someone considers you desirable sometimes, even if it is only Kaga.

I hastily jab a pin into my article, attaching it to the board with more force than necessary, and Amano-san yelps as the walls of his office threaten to fall on his head. I grab my coat at the door, fling my shoes on, and am downstairs five minutes before I told Kaga to be there. Sure enough, he is early, leaning against it transport that can only be described as a 'hog' (not a motor-bike, as I once called it, which is apparently some form of blasphemy) with his ratty leather jacket-covered arms crossed over his chest. I guess he's just come from work, going by the surprisingly neat looking dress-pants and shiny black shoes he's wearing with it.

Kaga looks up at me with neutral eyes, then throws a helmet at my head. I automatically step sideways, and it hits the wall behind me. That gets him out of his cool mood.

"What the hell was that?! You were supposed to catch it! Goddamnit, now it'll be scratched!"

"Well, it's not my fault you throw something at a person you know very well couldn't catch to save himself!"

I pick up the helmet from near my feet, and we glare at each other for a second.

"Let's just get going. Hop on, and try not to screw that up as well."

I make a rude gesture at my supposed friend, then slip on behind him as he starts the engine with a roar. 

He doesn't need to warn me to hold on anymore, as there's little else I can do. Sure, I've been a passenger on Kaga's 'baby' before, but I still don't think I quite like the thought of hurtling round the streets of Tokyo with nothing to protect me but a flimsy piece of fibreglass and foamy-stuff, and the thought that I might land on Kaga if worst comes to worst. It puts my blood pressure through the roof, but because of Kaga's unusual talent of constantly speeding and never getting pulled over, it's also the fastest form of transport around. Defying death by removing an arm from my death-hold around my friend's waist to push up my glasses, I realise that Kaga is in fact trying to talk to me as we roar through the streets of our city.

"What?"

He repeats something that I can't hear.

"WHAT?!"

"WHERE IN HELL'S NAME ARE WE GOING?!"

"Home!"

"WHAT?"

"HOOME!!!"

"OH, THERE'S NOT NEED TO YELL AT ME!"

"If I wasn't on a bike, I'd hit you!!"

"WHAT?"

"Nevermind!"

"WHAT?!"

"JUST KEEP DRIVING!!"

Is anyone else reminded of Tom and Jerry?

Kaga has made himself quite at home on my bed, stretched out like a cat, and I perch on the small amount of kitchen-bench space I have. 

"So, what's all this about?" he asks, finally settling into a comfortable position.

"Amano-san- "

"Who?"

I glare at the long figure on my bed for interrupting me. "My boss found out that I know Hikaru and Akira."

"Yeah? And?"

"He wants me to host a party for him and his Pro friends, so I can 'create connections'."

Kaga stares at me for a second, then curls in on himself laughing. "Oh fuck, that's good, tell me another one!"

"Kaga, I'm not kidding! How can I pull this off - I don't even own a kitchen table!!"

Kaga settles down again, smirking like the Cheshire cat with his arms behind his head. "So, what do you want me to do about this?"

"Help, maybe?  What do I do?!"

"Okay, is there any way you can weasel yourself out of this?"

Trust that to be his first question. Sometimes I think his motto is basically 'If you don't _need_ to do it, why bother?'

I shake my head. "Amano-san sees this as the opportunity of a lifetime to get inside information, and keep getting inside information. He's not about to forget or give up."

"Hm…Well, whatever you do, don't have it here. Your place is a hole. They'll just remember you as the guy who lives in a shoebox."

"Thanks for that cheery information."

"Could you book a table at a nice restaurant?"

"Kaga, if I could afford a fancy restaurant, do you think I'd be living in this place you call a hole? The only dinner out I can afford is at Mc Donalds."

Kaga snorts. "I can just picture Hikaru and Akira fighting over the Happy-Meal prizes." he tells me in a pleasant and calm voice.

"Kaga, please take this seriously," I beg.

Trying to wipe the smile off his face, Kaga sits up. "Can I go too?"

"What are you, stupid?"

"Hey! I resent that!"

"Kaga, if I was trying to insult everyone in the room, then I'd let you come. The thing is, I'm trying to _create_ connections, not offend everyone."

Kaga's smirk, if anything, becomes more fiendish. "You haven't seen my apartment before, have you?"

"No, why?"

"I live in the Tokyo Rises."

"Uuh?!"

Now there's something you don't hear everyday. The Tokyo Rises are the newest and trendiest apartments in all of Tokyo. They're big, modern, and cost an arm and a leg to buy.

"What did you do, sell your soul?!"

"No, my Dad got it for me. I get a nice apartment, he gets the assurance that his son will continue university."

"That's…" 

There was never any question in my family about whether or not I was going to university. It was just the next inevitable step after high school.

"If you want, you can hold your little party at my place. But; I have to be able to go."

I consider the offer deeply. Kaga can be made to shut up easily enough with possible promises or rope and a roll of duct tape, and any place there is impressive. "Fine. I'll have it there, you can come, but you'll be a nice reasonable person for the night. Don't destroy my career before it even starts."

Kaga raises an eyebrow. "Will do."

"Great." I sigh with relief.

"Now, come here."

"Eh?"

"Remember that promise? Your ass is mine."

Yes, I will leave it there. Ha. Ha ha ha ha… an' stuff. Please review?


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry this chapter took so damn long. I lost it before, and I hate the repetition of re-writing things. I did it eventually, but it just took me a while… and a lot of bitching to unsympathetic friends.

The morning after. Is there anything worse? I wake up stiff and sore (in one specific place more than others), and in a rather sour mood. What the heck am I going to do about the dinner? I have the venue, but I can't cook to save myself, though I think I can follow a recipe if it's extremely specific. I have yet to come up with the nerve to ask Shindo anything, because I'm fairly sure that Akira will realise that it's all about business. I'm sure he won't mind, being one of the most sensible and obsessive-compulsive workaholics that I've met, but I don't want to damage any sort of friendly relationship that we might have by making it out that I'm using him and his connections to weasel myself into various other pro's address books. Even if that _is_ what I'm doing.

Another thing I'm not sure about is what precisely I should be doing. I don't know when Amano-san wants anything to happen, so I don't know how much time that I'm supposed to put into it. I crawl out from under Kaga's dead weight, take my shower as usual, but pause before I start getting dressed, a towel wrapped around my waist.

The phone rings twice before my senior picks it up.

"Hello? Amano-san? I'm sorry to disturb you, but – Well, I was wondering about that – I've already got a venue in mind, so – I should just keep going then? Gold streak?" I laugh nervously, and cast a glance over my shoulder at my friend as he groans, then covers his face with my pillow. "Not quite, but – Yes, there was one other thing, when precisely should this be? Next week? Are you sure? Oh no, there's nothing wrong with that, I'll be ready – Next Wednesday night? Alright, I'll tell you when anything else comes into light. Thankyou sir."

I hang up, puzzled by my boss's closing line: 'No, thank _you_."

That man is putting too much money into my abilities to hold polite conversation. I'm a journalist. I write professionally, so this to me means that I don't have to worry about my inherent lack of ability to hold conversations past the point of 'hello'. Of all the people that Amano-san could dump it on, this task lands on me, the most socially inept person I know, which is saying something, since I seem to attract charmers like Kaga.

Speaking of Kaga… A pair of arms wrap around my waist.

"What're you doin' up so eaaarly?" he slurs into my shoulder in the dialect of the newly-awakened.

"Kaga, it's seven, hardly early."

"Seven? That all? Damn, I'm goin' back to sleep…"

"Kaga, I need to see your apartment this morning, do you mind getting dressed?"

My friend growls the negative, steps back and slumps back towards the bed, but I catch one of his trailing wrists and stop him mid-shuffle.

"Kaga,"

"Whaat?" my friend asks, turning around impatiently.

I drop the towel that I've been holding to my waist and step forward, pressing myself against my friend. "Ne, Kaga," I start in my bedroom voice, "Surely you can find something better to do than sleep?"

I kiss him teasingly, and step back. The spiky haired man follows eagerly.

That's one good thing about a half-asleep Kaga, he's so much easier to manipulate than a normal Kaga, who generally catches onto my wiles, because he would have thought of it himself. Half-asleep Kaga however, can barely decide which way is up. This is a good thing.

I secretly rejoice as I'm pressed up to the bathroom door, and remove one of my hands from in Kaga's hair to trail it slowly down his body, massaging his length for a second before reaching for the doorknob. The door swings open behind us, and Kaga stumbles forward a few paces, caught off-balance after leaning all his weight on me, and into direct range of the shower. I turn the faucet on.

Kaga's howl of ire can probably be heard for miles around as I turn the cold tap on and off in short, erratic bursts.

"Awake yet?"

The look Kaga gets me almost makes me keel over laughing. It's like a very angry man crossed with a thwarted child.

"Have a shower, and then we can get ready to go."

"You'll pay for that."

Sniggering, I walk back out of the bathroom and close the door behind me.

Stage one, complete. This is most definitely going to be regretted later on, but for now I'm laughing.

Laughing all the way to my doom. While it's funny now, I know that Kaga will get me back in the most horror-inducing way that his twisted little mind can come up with. I troop back across my bedroom/kitchen/living area/hole to my dresser, and pull out a pair of neatly folded jeans and boxers. My old pair or underwear is still sitting at the foot of the bed, along with my clothes from the night before, and Kaga's. I'm not touching that yet. God knows what's in there.

The bathroom door opens and Kaga comes out, dressed in nothing and running a towel through his hair. He sends me a look that would make Satan himself cringe, and says dryly: "Happy now?"

I have the boxers on, and pants zipped when I hear a key inserted into the lock of my door, and the knob turns.

My eyes widen with comprehension and I dash over to Kaga, shove him back in the bathroom, close the door, then look around my apartment frantically.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Kaga screams frustratedly through the thin, cheap door. He doesn't seem to understand the situation yet.

 I'm screwed.

"Ah? Hiro-kun? You're home at this hour?"

I move as swiftly to the door as I can manage without running, and smile in a hopefully convincing way for my mother. I feel so sad. My mother has a key to my apartment.

The bag-wielding middle aged women peers into my apartment over my shoulder as I stand in front of the door and blocking most of it from her vision, her dark eyes sweeping over the clothes scattered across the room, and the towel abandoned by my bed-partner. Then her face lights up with a huge smile.

"Ah! That would explain it. Son, you're dating again! I'm so happy!"

My mouth opens, then shuts again. Please don't let her see Kaga's shoes at her feet. She knows I don't own shoes as good as that, and they're sure as hell too big to belong to any lady.

"Well? Aren't you going to introduce me?"

"… She… doesn't have any clothes…"

A barking sneeze that sounds a lot like a muffled laugh comes from the bathroom.

"Well, then," she gestures impatiently at the clothes scattered around my bed, "Go get her something!"

I hesitate for a moment too long, and my mother gets the clue and smiles indulgently. "Alright then dear, I get the picture. I was just about to drop around this soup for you to eat so you don't die before new years, so I'll leave now."

She steps back, out of my apartment.

"By the way, you do remember that you're coming for dinner tomorrow night, right?"

I nod my head resignedly, knowing when I'm caught in my mother's evil web. She isn't going to let it drop.

"Be sure to invite your little friend, alright?"

I nod again, dumbly take the bag my mother hands me, and close the door as she jauntily steps off. I walk over to the bench, place the food carefully down, step back, then swear explosively.

"You deserved that. Karma, baby! So what do you think I should wear for tomorrow night?"

I turn around slowly, giving the happy man behind me the full brunt of my Evil Glare. "I think I'm going to file a restraining order soon."

"You get so hysterical over nothin'!" Kaga says brightly, waving me off. He's the only person I know that can wave off the glare of anyone in any situation. Hmm… evil thought for the day, Kaga vs. Touya Glare of Doom. "It would be rude of me not to accept the offer,"

"Accept and I'll…" I trail off and simply level a finger at his chest.

"It's not for you to decide," he replies loftily, ever unaffected, and walks over to his discarded clothing. "The 'little friend' says yes, Hiro-kuuun."

"Does he have to?"

There's a moment silence where I can tell that Kaga is going to mouth off some obnoxious reply, but he has to finish putting on his pants first.

"Well, you see," he pauses, back facing towards me and a zipper sound filling the gap in conversation, "I'm not afraid of what my parents think of me. I told my Dad ages ago about you, last year of school, I think,"

"You told him that we…"

"Fuck like bunnies? Yeah, I did."

I takes all my restraint to not keel over clutching my head. This morning is an instant headache. Not going at all like I had hoped.

"I met your dad in the firs year of collage… You mean… he knew when he met me?"

"Yeah, he did. He also approves of you, and gave me the go-ahead."

I don't want the 'go ahead', right now I want prozac.

I slump against the counter. So that's why Kaga's father, a distinguished looking business man, kept asking me personal questions and looking at me like I was a horse for sale. At the time, I had thought that it was all just his father being a weirdo pervert. Now I know he was making sure that I was a good influence and good for 'his boy', not that any good influence could do anything to change that man these days. He thought I was 'meeting the parents'. I thought I was just over for dinner. Now the situation has reversed.

I screw up my face with indecision. "You can come… But, if they don't say anything about our relationship unless they being it up, and I mean 'So, you're screwing our son?' not 'it's nice you two haven't lost contact with each other,' and even then… Let me talk, okay?"

Kaga slips his shirt back over his head, picks up his jacket and beats any dust-bunnies off it. "Geez, all I ever try to do for you is favours, and I always end up being treated like a cretin and a bad-guy."

"I know, I'm sorry, I've just been really uptight these past few days… shit keeps overlaying more shit,"

"Unpleasant imagery,"

I shoot the spiky-haired man a warning glare, "And I'm not coping well. You're not helping, either."

The last piece of my apology is coated in venom.

Kaga shrugs negligently. "It doesn't bother me, people always call me a 'bad influence', a 'bad boy', if you want to be really lame,"

I smooth down the front of Kaga's leather jacket, enjoying the smooth feeling of it and what it encloses under my fingers, before letting myself smile. "You're not all bad… your ass is great, in fact."

"Finally! A compliment!" Kaga smirks and breezes past me to slip his shoes on. "Well then, I guess I'll just have to walk in front of you so you can admire my ass as much as you want then."

With a wink and a blur of leather, he's out the door. I roll my eyes and follow.

My problems still haven't gone away, but for now I can shove them to the back of my mind and just enjoy the time I have with my best friend.

Yeah, yeah yeah… Nothing happens. I skimmed over things. I'm getting there. I have a plan. All fear.


	4. Chapter 4

Ah, I have such fun writing this. I thin that Tsutsui and Kaga are very natural companions, and being a hardcore guy/guy fan, I thought it was only necessary this does not, however mean that I have no idea what's going to happen after the party. I'll think of something, but suggestions are always fun.

Kaga's like an extremely proud five year old as he almost races ahead of me to get to the apartment. This is my first time visiting his house, and Kaga seems to think that it's a special occasion.

I can see why people think that Tokyo Towers are so swish and fancy. They are. The foyer is coated in marble, shiny enough to blind people with the back of the midday sun, with a few Romanesque vases scattered artfully, each with about one bent twig and some greenery in it, in the way that flower arrangements are done these days. The elevator, one of many scattered down a (equally shiny) side hall, was large enough to fit about eight women with prams, and was an incredibly smooth ride compared to the Tower of Terror style of transport in my own building. The carpet on the 54th floor, where we got out, was thick beneath my running shoes, and would probably make a comfortable bed.

"Prepare yourself to be amazed."

"I'll try to contain myself."

Hitching my bag further onto my shoulder as Kaga opens the door in front of us with a large amount of pomp, and a small dash of dropping the keys and swearing, finally the door opens before me.

"So, what do you think?" asks the former captain of the Shougi club smugly.

"I'll admit it, it amazes me. How can you live in such squalid conditions?"

"Leeching off you and Dad, of course. I'm rarely home, these days,"

"Typical."

I stride across the apartment, and throw open the curtains, the light flooding in illuminating the dust floating around the room like fireflies. I think this is the first time that the curtains have been opened in months.

"Kaga, I think I'm going to have to do a bit of redecorating."

"What's wrong with the place?"

"Well, for one thing, the booby-posters don't quite go with the rest of the décor."

"okay, so the booby ladies'll go. What else?"

"Where's your cleaning equipment?"

It takes Kaga a few moments of squinty-eyes and serious thinking to remember, never a good sign.

"Down the hallway, first door on the right."

I'm practically beaned by a mop as soon as I open the cupboard, and after subduing that, I manage to pull out a bottle of glass-cleaner, a packet of the dust-attracting rags, a box of garbage bags, and walking backwards with the power-cord firmly between my teeth, manage to tow the vacuum with me as I enter the living room again.

I can just tell that Kaga raises an eyebrow.

"Need some help?"

I spit out the dusty-tasting cord, and dump my other burdens on the ground.

"Sure. I like to see a floor when I'm operating. Put the clothes in one bag and I'll wash them, all the garbage in another, and… roll up the boobie ladies and they'll go in another."

"I don't like the connotations of my posters going in a garbage bag."

"Cry me a river." Realising how callous my last statement might have been, I looked up with a reassuring smile, and added "Don't worry, you can put the booby ladies in a cupboard, then get them out again on Thursday. After then, you can have porno posters on the back of the toilet door for all I care."

Kaga sighed wistfully. "It's like having a mother again."

"That's not a compliment in any language. Go to your room."

Kaga gives me the finger, and tosses me a rag.

Spray, wipe. Spray, wipe, squint suspiciously, re-wipe. Kaga's place is pretty, but it's not cleaning-friendly. The windows are too high to be reached without a ladder, and stains show up too well in the pristine white carpet. After finding the floor again, cleaning the windows inside and out, vacuuming, dusting every stationary surface (and attacking Kaga and his shiny leather jacket with the dirty cloths a few times when I find a dirty sock shoved down the back of my shirt or something equally childish), I put on the washing machine, and then moved the leather couches and chairs to cover a few suspicious stains and what look like cigarette burn-marks.

I step back to survey my work.

"Wow Kaga, if anyone stepped in here right now, they might think you were a normal, functioning member of society!" I shoot Kaga's evil glare an innocent look. "And then they'd see your face."

"Right, that's it."

Kaga crash-tackles me, and we fall to the ground in a heap of limbs and screeching, mostly on my part.

I only have a sister, and neither my parents nor my personality allowed for any sort of rough play before Kaga came sprawling into my life. Mr Sensitive, he took great pleasure in pointing out that my glasses were thick and my favourite game didn't come into anyone else's life. I finally came out one day that I already knew so he didn't need to keep repeating it, and from then on, Kaga shut up about my glasses, and just kept going with my lack of coordination and very unpopular club. It was, comparatively, a improvement.

Soon we were companions, if not friends. I liked having someone I could mouth-off at who honestly didn't mind and someone to talk to that wasn't a fellow nerd, and, having a stern father and no mother he could remember, I think Kaga appreciated having a mother-duck voice of reason in his life. Someone sensible to complement his very impulsive personality.

Kaga grabs a hold of on of my wrists, laughs triumphantly, and shoves his palm into my face. I bite the webbing between his thumb and forefinger, making him yowl, and he starts to poke my lower abdomen, my weak spot, mercilessly.

"Ah!" I gasp between giggles, "You're gonna- leave- bruises!"

"Bah! At least you haven't lost a chunk of skin, you savage!"

"I didn't even draw blood, you sissy!" I grab one of Kaga's wrists and yank, bringing his head forward and over mine until our noses almost touch. "I'll have to try harder, next time."

"Ye gods," Kaga mutter, his eyes focused firmly on my mouth, "I _am_ a bad influence…"

I wrap my legs around his waist, bringing our bodies together. "Still got a nice ass though…"

"Um… Hello?"

Shocked silence.

"Are… we interrupting something?"

Kaga rolls his eyes, eliciting a small smile from me, and then hoists himself to his feet again. "Nice timing as usual, Shindo."

Kaga thrusts out a hand to help me up, and when I'm standing (and blushing wildly), I instantly start to apologise to the flustered pair of young Go players in front of us.

"I'm sorry Shindo-kun, Touya-kun, if I had known you were coming, I wouldn't have let Kaga tackle me."

"Ah, it's fine." Hikaru insists, his eyes bright with amusement and rocking on his heels as Akira continues to blush silently, his eyes wide, "When you came over we were just getting out of bed, and I guess you were just heading there… so…" The two-toned pro trails off for a moment. "Are you sure we shouldn't go?"

"Oh by all means, you can stay, but, um…"

Akira smiles shakily, finally coming out of his little pot of confusion. "Don't worry, we're not stalking you, Kaga invited us, for something about a party?"

Ah! So the man _does_ think ahead!

Shooting my friend a huge, grateful smile, I gesture to the freshly cleaned couch. "Please, sit. Do you want anything to drink? Yes? Any preferences?"

"Tea would be fine, thankyou."

I smile like a good host, then grab Kaga by the elbow and drag him with me.

"Thankyou thankyou thankyou!"

One big hug later, Kaga looks suitably smug. "So, can I look forward to a night of thankyou sex, then?"

"What? On top of 6 more days?"

Kaga shrugs. "Thankyou sex tonight, then we'll pick up where we left off?"

I roll my eyes, ready to agree with almost anything right now.

I had never thought of asking them for their opinions on guests, food and anything else about the night!

"Fine, fine. Now where do you keep the kettle?"

"Ogata Seishi?"

"Hm…" Hikaru pursed his lips. "I personally think he's scary."

"But he is also very intelligent and well-informed. Don't listen to Hikaru. Ogata inspires unreasoning fear in him for some reason."

"Could it be his scary obsessive-compulsive pin-Hikaru-to-a-wall tendencies, or maybe his grab-small-unfamiliar-child-by-the-wrist-and-drag-him-unwillingly-to-meet-his-boss-and-force-him-to-play-a-game-of-Go tendencies, just maybe?!"

"I've done that to you a couple of times."

"Yeah, but you're my age. And you're a sissy boy. Anyway, it was only after you started stalking me that the fear of Akira kicked in."

"I was _not_ stalking you. You were merely suspicious. I thought you might be Sai."

"Uh huh. Suuuure. Waya did too, and he didn't follow me, now did he?"

"Um… guys?"

"Eh? Oh yeah! Sorry! Well, I guess it's probably a good idea to invite Ogata-sensei… if I don't have to talk to him."

There's confused silence from Kaga and I, who sit opposite the two pros with a folder between us with a list of names. Kaga wordlessly mimes 'that just went waay over my head' by sweeping a hand over his forehead and beyond, and I shrug a bewildered 'whatever' back, and extract what I need to from the last conversation: 'It's probably a good idea to invite Ogata-sensei'. I highlight his name.

"Kurata Atsushi?"

"Ah! Kurata." Akira smiles. "He's an interesting fellow, you'll like him."

"Just don't ask for his autograph."

I nod like I have every idea what Shindo's blathering about this time, and highlight his name.

"Ashiwara Hiroyuki?"

Hikaru frowns. "He's one of the enemy."

Akira leans forward, as if trying to block his boyfriend, and says "Ashiwara is from my father's study group, and one of my friends. He's a nice man."

Another set of weird looks is exchanged with Kaga. I highlight the name.

So far, I have Waya Yoshitaka, his housemate Isumi Shinichirou, Ochi Kousuke (barely, it was only aftera bitter debate the Hikaru conceded that it was polite to invite the poor sod), Honda Toshinori, Kadowaki Tatsuhiko, and the two opposite me on the list besides the ones that were just decided. Only one was rejected, a Moshiba Mitsuru, on the grounds of being, according to Hikaru, with the backing of Akira, a jerk of the highest order, and a pro because he was lucky.

"Is that everyone?"

I nod my head, relieved. Another few minutes of that and I think my head might have exploded with the amount of useless and seemingly inexplicable gossip that had been shoved into it. I didn't realise that the world of professionalGo could be so juicy. Damn, I should just pump these guys for information on a monthly basis, and write a gossip column.

"Can I just add a few more names onto the list?"

"Sure. Do I know them?"

"Yeah, but they're not pros."

I blink as Hikaru scratches his head, a little embarrassed.

 "Who are they then?"

"Mitani and Akari."

"Ah! You've kept in touch?"

"Yeah. They're married, and have a kid on the way. I just thought you might want to catch up."

"Of course I would!" I smile face-splittingly and pat Kaga on the knee. "Isn't that great? You get to renew your aquaintenceship with Mitani!" I exclaim, taking a dig at my friend.

Kaga grunts, his arms crossed over his chest. "He was a brat then, and I doubt anything would have changed."

I smile broadly again, then look across at the two younger men. "I want to thank you guys again. I hope you don't think that this was all… I appreciate your help, as friends as well as informants."

Akira smiles depreciatingly. "It's okay, we understand that it's work. And we don't mind helping friends either."

The long-haired pro stands up then motioned for his partner to do so, draping his coat over his arm. "If there's anything else you need help with, don't hesitate to ask."

With a thumbs-up and a wink, Hikaru bustles his lover to the door. "See ya Wednesday, okay?"

"Are you sure you can't stay for dinner?" I ask impulsively, before realising that any of the food here is probably either instant, or growing tentacles.

"No thankyou, we really must be going. Beside, I'm sure you two have better things to do than entertain two nerds." Akira said with a secretive smile, before muttering under his breath, but still loud enough for us to hear, probably deliberately, "Like each other…"

The two leave amidst Hikaru's cackling, shutting the door behind themselves, leaving me blushing furiously for the second time in one afternoon. They have a talent for that.

Okay. I had more, but it was basically in my head, a sex scene (of which I have never written before), and something I really couldn't be bothered committing to RAM. Maybe next time I shall… Imply that sexual gratification was achieved! Oh gods, I'm good.

Sorry about the wait… but I've been really busy lately, and with a friend from another country over, I have to do a lot more social and sight-seeing activities than I usually do. I'll try to post faster next time.


	5. Chapter 5

Az: Sorry this took so damn long. Sorry it's a little short. Sorry I'm a sissy that skips sex scenes.

Take-out curry. One of the few food items that is seriously hard to stuff-up when made in bulk. Unless there's something seriously wrong with the chicken, and you end up nearly dying of salmonella, like my father did in India way back when. I mean, rice is simple, I think everyone from the age of 5 up knows how to make rice if they live in most asian countries, and curry isn't too hard… And if the meat is bad, just add more curry powder, and no-one can tell. Not that I've ever done that…

We had dinner while sitting cross-legged on Kaga's giant, white leather couch, chatting and watching TV. A normal scene for friends.

At the back of my head, I was remembering another time when Kaga and I did something remarkably similar. He invited me over to his house to watch the live-broadcast of the Young Lion's tournament, on a day that his father just happened to be out. Guess what happened. One minute we were arguing over what might have possessed Hikaru to make him think he should be first chair, then the next Kaga's got his tongue down my throat, and I have a hand in his shorts. It was our first time, and afterwards (after waking up a few hours later with Kaga snoring on my chest, screaming then shoving him onto the floor... then a rather awkward talk,) it was back to arguing frantically about how to best remove the stain on the couch. Just normal 'us' again.

"Kaga?"

I carefully pick up my plate from the foot of the couch, pick up my friend's, and deposit them in the sink for the pile of things that should, eventually, be washed. The thought of the bottom of that pile, and what's growing in it, scares me. That's a job for the morning. I am suddenly very grateful towards who ever invented the dishwasher. I must remember to look that person up and devote a shrine towards them.

I poke my head out the kitchen door.

"Hey Kaga, turn that off?"

Kaga grunts the negative, still sprawling on the couch with the remote in one hand, and I am ashamed to admit it, scratching himself with the other. Yes. I do claim to get stimulating conversation out of this man.

Sighing, I place my hands on my hips. He doesn't know a good thing when it propositions him. "Please?"

"Why?"

"Because, if you don't in the next minute, the thankyou sex is off?"

The screen goes black.

A small frown on my face, I adjust the collar of Kaga's dress shirt. He insists on wearing it half open, and it just… looks messy.

I sound like my mother. Must… stop… channelling… mother…

With a mental slap to the head, I blink, then step back. "You've looked worse."

Kaga rolls his eyes. "Tsui, you ironed my pants. I haven't touched an iron since I found one at the bottom of a cupboard at home." The spiky haired man smiles like he's remembering a fond memory. "Me and that iron had a real good time."

I don't think I want to really know, but either way I find myself asking nonetheless. "What on earth are you talking about?"

The little smile on the handsome face turns into a malicious smirk. "It went through the roof of the vice-principal's greenhouse rather satisfyingly."

I hit my forehead with the palm of my hand, then cuff Kaga around his.

"Let's just go before I change my mind."

The smirk still present, Kaga links his arm through mine, and steps out the door.

The door opens, my parents smiling like the pin-up family. Well groomed, pleasant, and conservative. My mother's face droops when she spies my company.

"Oh. It's you."

I smile uncomfortably. "Yeah… um, sorry my girlfriend couldn't make it, she had to cancel. So I didn't waste your food, I brought this one instead." I explain, hooking a thumb over my shoulder to my friend.

"Oh. Alright then, come on in."

My parents step out of the doorway, and Kaga and I remove our shoes and coats, which my mother lines up in her scarily useful way.

"Please come through. What would you like to drink?"

My mother bustles off into the kitchen, and my father, myself and Kaga all settle into the living room furniture. My father sits in what he's designated as 'his chair' opposite us, and I perch on the edge of the couch while Kaga crosses his legs and lays his arms over the back of our seat.

"Soo, Kaga, what have you been doing since high school?"

"I'm doing a full degree in law, sir."

I hope my suspicion doesn't show on my face. Either Kaga's finally developed a brain, or he's purposefully showing respect.

"Ah." My father nods. "A surprisingly upright occupation plan coming from you."

Kaga smiles in the usual 'insert laugh here' way that I know that I use around bosses, and my comfort factor goes down around twelve.

"Well, I'm topping the class, so I suppose that it must be 'right' for me."

"The top?" father says, surprised as he takes his drink from my mother, "congratulations."

"Thankyou sir."

I take both myself and Kaga's drinks, both water (also rather scary, Kaga usually drinks like a fish), and pass one down the line to my friend.

He thanks me, and my father laughs delightedly. "Ah, Kaga, there's no need to be so formal around us. It's not like you're dating our son or anything, now is it?"

Kaga, who had just been taking a sip from his glass chokes, then coughs convulsively. Eyes watering, Kaga motions to his throat, then at the bathroom before standing and coughing all the way to his destination.

Yet another one of those silences where you can just tell that everyone is thinking something you don't want them to descends on my family as we sit in silence at the lounge.

"So… why was it again that your girlfriend couldn't make it?"

"She had a paper to finish."

My mother nods, and the silence is back.

Kaga flicks an uncomfortable smile (which looks more like a grimace) at our elders before he squeezes past me, and takes his seat back on the couch.

"Tetsuo-kun, it's so nice that you and Hiro-kun have kept in contact."

Kaga nods. "We've been getting together a lot since high school, actually."

I try to smile like, to me, that comment hadn't been semi-ambiguous. "Ah, yes. We try to make a habit of meeting at least once a month."

"That's nice. That is nice."

My mother smooths out a wrinkle in her skirt, then stands up and says: "I suppose I'll go check on dinner." Before scuttling out of the room like her heels are on fire.

Kaga twiddles with his glass. "Your wife seems well,"

My father blinks like he's coming out of a trance. "Yes. Very well. She's a lot more relaxed since this one moved out."

I chuckle bashfully with everyone else in the room, and we're stuck back with no conversation.

"Kimihiro, how's the writing business going?"

"Journalism, Dad. Its going fine. Actually, on Wednesday, I'm holding a dinner for many of the prominent Go players. Trying to create connections or something."

"You? A host?" My father snorts. "You couldn't host a piss-up in a brewery."

More stuttering laughter. And they wonder why my self-esteem is so low.

"I tried explaining that, but since my boss found out that I already know a few players, he's insisting."

Dad smiles wryly. "Good luck, son."

"Dinner's ready!"

All three of us abruptly stand up, and shuffle over to the table, where my mother stands smiling.

Az: Aaaaand, we'll get to the dinner in the next chapter. That sucked. Bah.


	6. Chapter 6

Yaay! Chapterage! I made sure this one is long, well, I didn't really, I was just sitting in my room writing for about two days straight in a very effective bought of procrastination. I cut it off there, because any longer would have been blather. Either way, here's the dinner with parents, and the day afterwards, which is the Monday before the dinner party. Not too long to go, ne?

"Please enjoy."

With an appreciative look to the veritable feast in front of us, then muttering out thanks, Kaga and I dig in like hungry men with tape worms. This is probably the best meal that Kaga and I have had for months. There's even vegetables, which I enjoy since greenery isn't exactly a cornerstone of my diet. If it's possible to rip into meat while using chopsticks, my friend, who sits opposite me, has it down to a fine art. All pretences of politeness are discarded out a seventh-storey window, and what we truly are, ravening young men, emerges.

"Pass'a soy please."

I slide the soy sauce across from where it sits next to my mother's elbow without looking up.

"So, Tetsuo-kun, you and Hiro-kun are close, have you met his girlfriend yet?"

Kaga stops stuffing his face to deliver my parents a smile that only I can successfully read. There's gears working behind those eyes, I can tell.

"As a matter of fact, I have. She's on exchange from England, actually,"

Mother looks amazed and exited. I'm sinking even lower into a pit of misery, and lower my face closer to my bowl.

"Her name is Lara. Lara Croft. She's studying archaeology."

"Ooh, isn't that wonderful dear? Our son is seeing such a cultured, interesting sounding woman!"

I'm so bloody glad that my parents know nothing. Thank you, general parental disinterest with modern technology! Despite how relieved I am that my parents are completely oblivious at the elaborate joke being pulled on them, the little knot of tension that had been forming earlier in my chest is trying to choke me. Note to self: Disembowel Kaga with a bottle-opener.

My father agrees with an approving noise. "We'll have to meet her, son."

I laugh in a nervous sort of way, and resist the urge to try and asphyxiate myself in my udon. "It's not that serious, dad."

"Oh no son, I'm interested. You have to bring her home."

My father's amiable persuasion sounds like a death sentence, and I, trying not to move my upper body too much, kick Kaga in the shins under the tablecloth and give him a subtle glare as he winces. A glare that basically translates to 'why the hell did I invite you to this; fall off a cliff and die'.

Kaga waxes innocent, then proceeds to blather at my parents in increasingly larger amounts of detail about my 'girlfriend'. I will kill him. I will kill him, then laugh while standing over his body. I will dance on his grave.

"Heh, Kaga, keep this up, and we won't get back to our beds before morning!" I smile widely, my eyes boring into Kaga's face "It's a good thing that I have absolutely _nothing_ to do tonight, ne?"

Subtle hint number one: Keep this up, and I'm changing both the locks and my address, and you ain't gettin' any, boy.

"Oh, but your parents deserve to know _everything_ about this, friend!"

Subtle hint number two: Guilt trip. There is no girlfriend and we both know it. Stop being such a sissy and tell them the truth.

I laugh in a hopefully delighted way. "Oh, that's for certain. But we can't put all our eggs in one basket, it doesn't _all_ need to be said tonight!"

Subtle hint number three: Feck off. I'm not up to it yet, but I will eventually.

Throughout the entire jovial little conversation that Kaga and I had been engaged in, my parents had merely watched in an oblivious and fond sort of way. They really think we're getting along. They almost seem to be treating Kaga, or should I say, 'Tetsuo-kuun!' like a second son, after getting over their initial disappointment that he was not, in fact, a beautiful young lady.

Kaga delivers me a frosty smile, then leans his chin on his hand and blinks at me innocently. "Hey 'Tsui, I wouldn't wait too long, your chick may go back to England!"

Subtle hint number four: …

I don't know. This is a tactic that Kaga hasn't used before. If there is a meaning to this, it's lost on me, and I break the chain.

"I suppose so."

Kaga blinks like he's coming out of a trance, then straightens up to start jovially chatting with my father beside him.

Perplexed, I sit back to listen, and let the conversation happening around me wash over me.

I thank my parents, bow slightly, take up my jacket and shoes, then walk down the steps from my parents house to Kaga's 'hog' as he exchanges goodbyes with my folks.

The spare helmet under my arm, I straddle Kaga's transport and then wait patiently as he comes down the steps. I drop my helmet, letting it roll about a metre in front of me, then grimace.

"Hey Kaga, I think if I move I'm going to make your baby fall over, Can you get my helmet for me?"

Kaga mutters something about 'clutzy idiots', approaches lose enough to hit me lightly around the back of my head, then bends over to retrieve my discarded head gear. I take a moment to admire the view, then boot Kaga.

"Lara Croft?! What are you, insane?"

Kaga straightens while sourly rubbing his behind, then tosses the helmet underhand at me. I manage to catch it this time, probably because Kaga's standing about a foot away, then serve him a look that could curdle milk straight back.

"You deserve that, man."

He straps on his own helmet, then gets on in front of me. Once fastening the only thing between myself and spreading my brains across the pavement in the event of a crash onto my own head, I stubbornly wind my arms around Kaga's waist, then lean my head into the dip between his shoulder blades.

Ah well, no real harm done… damnit! Must not let resolve weaken because his leather jacket smells good!

We stop momentarily at a set of lights, and I turn my head so that the tip of my nose is suspended about a centimetre from Kaga's back thanks to the helmet, and glare fiercely down at the inch gap between Kaga and myself, then shuffle forward slightly.

"Enjoying yourself there?" Kaga asks, sounding amused as I plaster myself to his back.

"I hope you know you're a bastard of the highest order."

Kaga chuckles, his back jumping slightly. "But I'm lovable."

I snort.

"Keep telling yourself that."

We speed forward once more, and I cling on for dear life.

I'm getting used to moving around town like this, but I'm still not entirely cured of my fear of dying a terrible terrible death. I think it's his driving. Through I'm sure using back alleys and turning corners in a rather abrupt fashion (as well as practically running over screaming high school students when he doesn't stop at the pedestrian crossing) cuts off a at least ten minutes off the drive, but it doesn't do wonders to my nerves. I didn't have nearly as much trouble when Kaga only had a motorised scooter. Probably because if more than one person sat on it, it didn't go over about ten kilometres per hour…

Kaga trundles to a stop I the car park of my apartment building, and I cautiously slide off the side of the 'hog', and, with a wave, watch Kaga drive off.

The walk upstairs to my room is a long and silent one, and once I'm inside, I kick off my shoes, dump my overnight bag, and then pull out my newest purchase, a cookbook called 'Doing it Right: Western Food made Easy and Accurate!'

I pull out the one chair at my kitchen table, and sit down to study.

Eight O'clock the next morning finds me standing confused and bewildered in a convenience store. I need spices, and meat, and vegetables… pastry, some strange type of cheese… It's all very confusing. Where am I supposed to find basil? I only vaguely know what it is…

I flag down a poor, hapless shop assistant, then thrust the list under her nose while babbling that I need all these things. With a sympathetic smile and a nod, she tells me to wait where I am, standing in the middle of the miscellaneous goods isle with a little basket over one arm, while she rustles everything I need up. To my left, rat poison. To my right, condoms. Great. What an isle to be stuck in. I take a few steps forward, to stand instead next to a vast array of ashtrays. My mind flashes to the graveyard of cigarette butts littering the steps of the fire escape out my window, then I impulsively lean over, pick out a plain grey ashtray, and place it in my basket.

The supermarket assistant come bustling back, her arms loaded up with good, and proceeds to dump them all into the basket on top of the ashtray, while going on about cooking. She looks up and gives me an understanding look.

"Cooking for someone special?"

I shake my head quickly. "My boss is making me host a dinner."

"Aah. Well, good luck!" she cheerfully pats me on the arm, then disappears back into the baked goods.

I add the few things that I need to the basket, deodorant, shampoo and a few packets of dried noodles. I pay for all this (while shuddering and muttering bleakly to myself about not eating for the net six months) and walk back home.

When Kaga walks in the door, I'm cooking. He pauses and I can just feel him taking in the bubbling stove, apron and cooking book propped up on the salt and pepper shakers as he kicks off his shoes.

"I think they're ice skating in hell."

"Thanks. Well, what did you expect me to do? Feed them all instant soup? While that might be enough for a certain blondie, I doubt the others would be impressed."

Kaga snorts and dumps a thick pile of textbooks on my bed before stripping off his trademark leather jacket.

"Had uni today?"

"Yup. I got another course at one. That smells surprisingly good. Can I expect a sample before I leave?"

I nod, eyes focused on the pot of red sauce that I am currently stirring. "That's what it's here for. This is my 'I hope I know what I'm doing' batch."

The oven beeps beside my leg, and I open it for a few moments to see how my little pockets of feta cheese and spinach are going. 'Golden brown' the book says. I suppose that will do. I pull out my generally neglected novelty oven mitts, a hose-warming gift from one of the guys at the office, and turn off the oven.

"Hey Kaga, got a surprise for you,"

I watch Kaga out the corner of my eyes as I place the core-temperature-of-the-sun baking tray on the bench to cool.

"Let me guess, you're not wearing anything under that apron."

I stare at Kaga dryly, then state "in your dreams."

He smirks fiendishly, and I glance at the recipe before poking the pasta as it boils furiously on another element. "Fire escape."

"What, I'm in the sin-bin now?"

"No you tool, it's on the fire escape."

Kaga pokes his head out my window.

"Please note for me how clean my fire escape currently looks. Now note the ashtray. Comprehende?"

"You're loosening up on the whole smoking thing?"

I flash Kaga a brilliant smile, and grate out: "Not by half. But I have resigned myself to the fact that you will indeed continue to smoke, no matter how many times I happen to bitch about it. Now you don't have to make a mess while you indulge your dirty habit."

Kaga walks over to me, claps his hands down onto my shoulders, then kisses the top of my head. "Thanks."

I leave it at that. He sounds sincere. This boy… Over the past few days, he just seems to snap into this frame of mind where I have no idea what he's going on about. It isn't the normal Kaga I'm used to, but it isn't 'Tetsuo-kuun', the polite version of my friend which Kaga pulls out when he needs to impress someone.

He climbs out the window, sits down on the ledge, and pulls out his trusty lighter and box. I roll my eyes. That doesn't mean he has to smoke straight away.

I poke the pasta with a pair of plain wooden chopsticks, pulls a strand out of the mass then blow on it as Kaga sits puffing silently watching traffic passing on the main street. It's a comfortable sort of silence, where no one is expected to think of anything to say, and no one really wants to. When you find someone you can be around without needing to talk, then you know that you've found someone you can talk to as well.

Which is good, because I need to have a proper talk with this one.

"Oi, Kaga how hungry are you?"

The spiky haired friend contemplating something on my windowsill blinks, then ducks his head and climbs back through my window.

"Dunno. How much you got?" he asks cheekily, before sauntering over to poke one of my little pastry parcels cooling on the counter.

"Eat one of those thingos you're poking and tell me what they're like."

I turn off the elements, and carry the pot of pasta over to the sink, and tip it, the lid slightly ajar, and instantly get hit in the face by a jet of steam. Bloody typical. My glasses fog over, and I squint and keep tipping until I'm fairly sure there isn't much water left before slamming down the pot of pasta on the bench, removing my glasses, and rubbing them furiously on the hem on my shirt while muttering darkly to myself.

"What's in these?" Kaga asks in a cross between suspicion and curiosity from behind me.

"Argh, cheese and spinach."

Kaga chuckles, holding a half-eaten pastry in one hand while he opens the god-accursed pot of pasta. He shoves the rest in his mouth, then licks his fingers.

"Is it alright then?"

Kaga nods instead of trying to speak, and I'm secretly glad of that. I'm secretly proud that I've finally managed to convince him that speaking it, not spraying it, makes a better impression.

Out comes two bowls, then two spoons. I lump some of the pasta into each of the bowls, then spoon some sauce on top of that. I pass one bowl to Kaga, then sit cross legged on the kitchen table facing inwards. Kaga crawls on opposite me, places his food in his lap, then stares me straight in the eyes.

"What is it?"

It's good like this. He just knows when I need to talk about something seriously. Out goes the banter and insult pegging, in comes the friend that I truly appreciate.

"How did you… tell your Dad that you were… Ya know?"

And now I leave it there. Ha ha ha, et cetera. I still feel like writing more after this, so rest assured that the next chapter shouldn't take as long as some of the other ones do. This wasn't too much blather, was it?

I've tried to incorporate Tsutsui being clueless about the way Kaga actually feels in this, I hope it wasn't too… crappy. Feedback?

Until next we meet again.

Az


	7. Chapter 7

I finish my meal at a slower pace, which is, admittedly, not hard, then stack the dishes and pots in the sink to be dealt with later. I knew there was a reason why I didn't like to cook too much. My apron goes into the closet from whence it came, and the cook book sits on my kitchen table, a folded bookmark stuffed in to mark the two pages I need, one for an entrée, the other for the main.

I glance around my shoe-box sized apartment, stuck for something to do, then sit down at my kitchen table with a sigh. That tasted alright. I now know that I can cater, and hopefully no one would keel over and die. I know that if I beat him with a stick, and threatened to impose week-long chastity on him, I can get Kaga to dress well. I know that everyone who is supposed to be had been invited.

The only unknown element: The most important one. My people skills.

Almost before I realised what I was doing, I was standing in front of the mirror in my bathroom.

I took off my glasses and practiced a smile. After about two seconds of looking at my own face, the incredibly fake look transformed into a grimace. People gave up on trying to get print clubs done with me about a year ago, when they realised that I just couldn't smile for no particular reason. I'd ruin the shot. There'd be Emiko doing the usual 'v' symbol and conjuring up a sassy look, Ken looking happy, healthy and handsome, and me, looking like some vaguely guilty and generally disturbed, like I hadn't realised there was a camera in the tiny little booth.

Coping with smiling and laughing with a bunch of men all evening was something I was not sure I could do. In the past, in these situations, I would be more likely to hide in a corner with a drink and a bored expression. Not being a particularly social person, I wasn't sure how I would cope sucking up to one person, much less a room filled with them. I still wasn't quite sure why I had been lumped with ensuring easy and juicy interviews for the next few years to come. Hell, I knew two Pros, and that still didn't make interviewing them easy.

… What were they thinking?

My head rolled slowly forward and thumped gently against the glass. I don't know why, but in a twisted way, it was comforting. I did it again.

The bathroom filled with the dull sound of a solid object hitting the mirror and the occasional sigh.

My front door slams closed again.

"I'm back."

I mutter flatly, staring at the kitchen table "welcome back."

Kaga wanders over to see what I'm doing, discovers that I'm staring blankly at the table, and absently kisses the top of my head. "Well, don't you look happy to be alive,"

"I'm considering taking up smoking."

"Really? Cool."

Kaga sits down lightly on the kitchen table next to me and ruffles my hair as a scowl up at him.

I don't need to say that I was kidding, Kaga knows that, he just doesn't respond to people either searching for pity or feeling sorry for themselves.

"I have a repulsive personality and no people skills."

Kaga pauses reflectively for a moment before continuing. "Nah, I wouldn't quite say that. You're just a little weird."

"And is weird better than repulsive?"

Kaga shrugs his shoulders casually. "Weird can be considered quirky, which isn't bad. Anyway, if you're talking about impressing people with your wit and rhetoric when your kooky Go Player friends come over, don't worry about it. They're just as 'quirky' as you are."

"Hello Kettle, I'm Pot," I mumble without looking up from the table.

Kaga sighs and nudges me with a foot. "Don't be this much of a party pooper tomorrow, or you'll frighten your guests off."

A familiar hand finds my hair and starts to stroke it, and I lower my head to the table, eyes closed.

"C'mon, weirdo. Lets get some food into you."

I lay out the table cloth and step back to look at it.

"It's crooked. I know it is."

My friend sighs and continues to sort cutlery. "You're paranoid."

I start to bite my thumbnail in a vague sort of retaliation. "I know I'm paranoid, but I also know this is crooked."

Crouching at the foot of the table, I check to see how much material is hanging down each side of the table, then straighten the cloth minutely and sigh.

"Stop fiddling."

I prod Kaga as I pass, then take my apron from the sofa and head back into the kitchen to check on the food. In two hours, guests will be arriving, and I want everything to look perfect, even if the hosts are less than brilliant. I've resurrected my suit in a slightly cleaner looking form, after sending it to the drycleaners and splurging on a new tie, but have put those to a side until everything is cooked, because if I wear it in it's pressed and shiny glory whilst cooking, I will inevitably spill something of a contrasting colour all over it.

Kaga's also got a suit, one of the slick things that he'll inevitably wear all the time when he's finished his law degree; the kind of suit that looks like it can repel rain and bullets. Black with a dark maroon tie. He looks like a cross between a bodyguard and a sex god at a wedding. I am impressed, but I would be even more impressed if he could get his hair to play dead for at least a few hours.

I stir the sauce and put the lid on, then set the timer on Kaga's ultra shiny oven and head back out of the kitchen towards him, reaching a hand up and attacking his hair from behind as he continues to fold napkins. Kaga turns and scowls, hair sticking up more than normal, as I make a face and wipe his hair gel on my pants.

"Ew, what is that, glue?"

"I got it from a salon, and it cost an arm and a leg," he scowls.

"That's some expensive glue ya got there."

Kaga with his 'salon hair' gives me another foul look. "It's not glue."

I take a theatrical step back and look him up and down. "Your hair doesn't suit your suit."

"So you want me to take a shower?"

"If that'll get rid of the angry clown hair, yes."

"Just for that, I won't have a shower unless you come too."

My parents, my mother's disappointment at seeing Kaga at the door flashes through my head, and I think I must visibly baulk.

"I cant, I have things to do?"

Kaga isn't fooled, nor is he impressed. "Like what, hiding in a closet?"

"Really funny, Kaga."

"You're being a wuss."

"I lied to them, Kaga. Lara Croft? Remember?"

"Your mistake. It still has to happen."

I cross my arms, stubborn face on. "What does it matter to you, Kaga?

"Jesus Tsui, if we were just fuck buddies, you think I'd care? We…"

Kaga trails off, swears violently enough to practically turn the air around him blue then storms off down the hallways muttering about the 'effing shower'.

What the hell am I doing? Kaga's right, I suppose.

I check on the food in auto-pilot, then sit down on the couch, disturbing the perfectly arranged decorative cushions, and pull out my mobile phone.

I dial my parents' number, and my mother eventually picks up.

"Moshi moshi?"

"Hey mum."

"Oh, Kimihiro, it's good to hear from you. I was just about to call and ask if you wanted to bring Lara around sometime –"

I cut her off before I can feel any more guilty.

"I can't, mum."

"Why not?"

"Lara's not here anymore."

There's a moment's silence before my mother replies. "What do you mean?"

"Lara died. She tripped in a plot hole and died."

"Kimihiro, what do you mean?" she stresses the point again.

The timer on the oven beeps, and I check my watch. "I have to go now, mum. I'll come over tomorrow sometime."

"When?"

I sigh.

"Just… sometime."

I hang up before she can reply and tip my head back towards the ceiling with a sigh, eyes closed. Kaga moves past me smelling damp and musky, then he turns off the alarm on the oven, which I had left blearing. His footsteps are lost in the plush carpet so I don't notice he's moved back over to me until the teatowel lands over my face.

"Come on, space case," he says, voice tired and warm again, "we've still got shit to do before those nerds of yours turn up."

He helps me to my feet and holds me close for a moment before steering me back towards the kitchen.


	8. Chapter 8

Author Note: Today we get a long chapter. This involves the dinner and the immediate time after it. I won't say anything more.

Start of Chapter.

Kaga sits on the floor in front of his mirror, trying to keep his perfect and practically space-aged suited from getting creased, as I attempt to put his drying hair into some kind of order. I'm hoping that by washing the gel-come-glue out of his locks they'll fall naturally and nicely around him, but it seems that some of the gel has leaked into the very essence of his hair and is making it harder than I had envisioned. I found Kaga's largely neglected hairbrush buried under a pile of 'manly' beauty products he's bought and started attacking his head several minutes ago, but his hair is only just starting to obey my orders. Evidently, in order to get his impressive spikes, Kaga orders to have his hair layered as well when it's cut and dyed its particular shade of deep red. So when effectively flattened, it falls nicely and frames his rather impressive face. It's longer than I thought it would be, too. While it's a halo of red spikes usually, it can reach a few inches below his shoulders too. It seems to float around him, so I pause a moment to admire it, then put down the hairbrush.

Giving Kaga's hair one last stroke with both my hands, I then touch him on the shoulder to get his attention. It seems somewhere through the hair-taming process, he closed his eyes, a composed look on his face that's slightly unfamiliar. I could have spoken to get his attention, but the silence that had been building in the room has smothered any compulsion to speak. It doesn't seem right, somehow.

The quiet man below me opens his almost orange eyes and stares up at me in the mirror with some strange expression I can't quite name. It reminds me of the deep look Hikaru used to get about Go. It seems like he's staring up into the conclusion of an uncertain dream. Something that he wants, though getting it would be hard. I never quite expected anyone to use that expression on me, one with such desperation and need.

A hand reaches slowly up, like a person taming a disgruntled animal, and gently but firmly pulls me down and into his lap. I don't know why I don't protest. Kaga holds me close, face buried in my shoulder and breath whistling warm over my neck. He holds me almost too tight.

"You're a fucking idiot."

Kaga sucks in a deep breath, like a hound getting a scent after telling me this, and I can see that his eyes are shut again. His hand starts to compulsively but a little too firmly pet my hair.

"I love you, you fucking idiot, and you don't even know. Fuck, I love you."

Everything goes still and silent for a terrifying moment inside my mind though Kaga's insistent petting continues, like my blood has stopped pumping. That might be the reason why I suddenly feel like my brain's wrapped in cotton.

I think I must have made some form of noise, because I can feel Kaga's chest jumping against my shoulder with silent laughter in reply to it. The world slowly starts again, but with all the sense of reality and movement as a merry-go-round.

"Sorry buddy, that scare ya?"

Kaga pries himself away from me and turns me in his lap to face him. He gives me a weary, sad but somehow warm smile.

Realising that he's waiting for me to say something, anything, I give my head a slight shake to try and clear the mental fog.

"Not as much as you calling me 'buddy' does."

He chuckles again, which I am starting to believe is a nervous reaction. An unconscious effort to relieve tension.

His hand reaches up and absently tucks some of my fringe behind an ear. "Whoops. Shoulda guessed it would take more than a confession from your best friend to throw this man off."

I mock scowl. "Who said you were my best friend?"

Kaga quirks an eyebrow. "Who else do you hang out with?"

It's remarkable, how simple Kaga makes pinning me down look. He somehow manuvers me from his lap onto lying on the ground, climbs onto me and starts sliding a hand up the inside of my legs without so much as batting an eyelid or giving me time to react.

I try my best not to squirm, because I know he'll tease me mercilessly if I do.

"Kaga, you're going to ruin your hair."

"You can fix it later."

"You're going to crease your suit."

"I'll get changed."

"Kaga, the doorbell just rang. And if you tell me they can wait I'll lock you in the bathroom like a bad puppy till it's over."

Kaga grins ferally.

"Lock me in and I'll call security and have you an' your Go buddies dumped out on the street."

I grin back, and the emotion that accompanies the expression makes me believe it's probably just as feral.

"Do that, and I'll move back in with my parents."

The doorbell rings again and I wriggle for freedom, highlighted with a snicker at the look of chagrin on my best friend's face.

I head quickly out of the bedroom to welcome the first guest, and wonder briefly if Kaga noticed that I never told him how I felt.

* * *

I find myself between a rock and an equally hard place.

On my left is Ogata, the pale-haired, stoic, rising Go star. He makes me, as I'm sure he does for many, feel uncomfortable. I'm not the best person to host a social event, mostly because I just can't seem to engage in idle chatter without feeling like a complete and utter idiot. I can't talk about his last Go tournament without sounding like a hopeless fan (though I am), I can't ask what he thinks about the other outstanding players as they're sitting at the same table. Talking about the weather sounds pitiful, and he doesn't seem like the type to strike up conversation on his own with a complete stranger. So I'm stuck feeling like I should be somehow engaging his attention, but with what I have no idea. I take a wild stab in the dark.

"So, Ogata-san, are you seeing anyone?"

"Not currently, no."

He sips from his wine glass and gives me the sort of appraising look that makes me want to climb the curtains to escape his scrutiny.

"Why do you ask?"

I'm halfway through mentally screaming 'oh Christ no, that's not what I meant!' and stammering a weak reply when Kaga, sitting on my right, abandons his taunting of Mitani long enough to lean deliberately forward past me and deliver the poor Go player a look that would make Touya Akira shudder in fear, from the wrath that it implies.

Part of me is relived that Ogata wisely takes this as advice to step back from the batting plate, but another part of me, the remarkably small 'manly' part of me is getting annoyed that Kaga should be so obviously staking his claim on me.

I elbow Kaga firmly in the ribs, adjust my glasses with my other hand, then attempt to smile apologetically. "Have you met my friend Tetsuo Kaga?"

Still leaning possessively past me, Kaga sticks out a hand. The two shake hands and mutter the usual formalities, but from the mulish expressions and white knuckles both are sporting, I gather that they aren't quite as happy to meet each other as they claim.

Withdrawing their hands, Kaga casually but calculatingly drapes an arm over the back of my chair. Conversation has dropped to a murmur around us, and I think people are trying not to watch as the two on either side of me duel it out to see who has the most testosterone.

"So, how do you know Tsutsui-san?"

Kaga shrugs hugely behind me, as I can feel his jacket shift up and down against my back. "We've been friends for years. Isn't that right, Hikaru?"

Opposite Ogata, Hikaru's mouth opens then closes again at suddenly being introduced into a conversation that would be better off not occurring, then finally answers "uh, yeah. If you count the taunting and planning to throw him in the…"

"Thanks for your input, Hikaru."

Ogata looks slowly between Hikaru, who is trying to avoid his gaze, me, sitting mortified and stone-still in my seat, and Kaga, simmering behind me.

"I see."

Propping his chin up on one fist, Ogata slowly twirls his wine glass, the personification of a cat watching its prey.

"I gather you two are close, then?"

Kaga seems to hesitate for a moment, then says with bravado, "if you must know, we're lovers."

Conversation dies altogether.

It takes a few moments to retain my cool, then I shrug my shoulders in an attempt to remove Kaga.

"Thank you for revealing that." I stand and start to gather the dishes, my mind working furiously to come up with some form of damage-control.

"Please excuse my friend here, he gets any alcohol in his system and his mouth runs away with itself and his sense of appropriate timing."

The low chuckle this earns from around the table reassures me that I've managed to circumvent a potentially disastrous event, but that doesn't stop the cold burn of fury in my chest. Flicking Kaga harder than necessary in the forehead, I head towards the kitchen.

"I'll deal with you later, _dear_."

This earns another chuckle, one filled with sympathy.

Mitani and Akari were the first to leave, sadly, as their company was good, but expecting their first child sometime soon, Mitani insisted on leavingbefore tento get his wife to bed. His doting on her is adorable. The others started to drift out after that, Hikaru and Akira being the last to leave, as we linger over coffee and a few traditional Japanese sweets which involve a little too much red bean paste for my taste, but no doubt looked thoroughly impressive.

Checking the time, Akira grimaces, then finishes the remaining dredges of his coffee.

"I'd love to stay longer, but I have a conference tomorrow morning, so I need all the sleep I can get."

Beside him, Hikaru makes a long-suffering expression and rolls his eyes, clawing at the sky.

"I wonder how many rabid middle-aged ladies will ask to have your baby this time?"

Trying not to smile, Akira stands and stacks his teacup in his partner's.

"They do it to you, too."

"You they've picked as husband material. Me, they just want to rape." The two-toned pro drawls in reply, gathering their coats and handing Akira's to him.

Everyone chuckles, and I hold out my hand to Akira.

"Thanks for coming tonight. You two were a big help with the set up of this as well. Good luck on not getting raped tomorrow."

Akira smiles and shakes my hand, then I move across and do the same to Hikaru. Kaga stays back, which is a wise move on his part.

"Well, if that fateful day ever comes, I'll make sure you get the exclusive."

"I can see the headline now: Handsome Homosexual Go Player Raped by Desperate Housewife."

Absently cuffing his lover around the head, Akira heads out the door.

"It was a good evening. You did well, circumstances aside."

We all wave, then the door shuts between Kaga and I and polite society.

The pleasant mask drops, and I head instantly for the bedroom and start repacking my bag.

"What're you doing?" Kaga asks from the doorway, voice laced with confusion.

"It's been a long night. I think I'll head home and hit the sack."

Kaga enters the room behind me, and I can hear his footsteps on his plush carpet, the silence after this is so deep.

"Why not just stay here?" he asks, rubbing his hands up and down my shoulders to try and work the tension out.

I am way past a massage healing things over. I shrug his hands off and pick up my bag.

"Now why would I do that?"

"Because –"

Kaga stops abruptly and I can almost hear the gears in his head grind into action.

"Fuck, what have I done now?"

I head out of the bedroom and back down the hallway towards the door.

"That's a good question. What _have_ you done? Why don't you clue me in on that one, Kaga _dearest_?"

I can hear him hurrying to catch up to me, but I honestly don't care.

"Tsui, talk to me goddamnit!"

The desperation in his voice only makes me start moving faster, and soon we're both running for the door, me trying to escape, him trying to catch me before I can.

A hand closes firmly around my wrist and refuses to leg go, though I buck wildly. He yanks me back and a noise somewhat like a hiss escapes my lips as I push away again.

He grabs for my bag and soon we've descended into tug-o-war over my luggage.

"Tsui! Why're you acting like this!" Kaga yells, tugging again and making me almost stumble forward.

I pull again harder.

"What the hell did you think you were doing, claiming my ass like that! You practically ruined the evening!"

Kaga wraps a second hand around the handle and pulls again, heels digging into the carpet.

"I only did it cuz that slimeball was hitting on you!"

"I don't need you sticking up for me! I'm perfectly capable of doing things alone!"

"I want people to know, okay! I'm proud! There, I'm sorry, I'm proud to have you!"

I left go of the handles as Kaga gives an almighty haul and he stumbles back and lands heavily on the ground. My suitcase collides with the coffee table.

I'm speaking before I even realise what I'm saying.

"You don't _have_ me, Kaga, I'm not a possession! Christ, you just suddenly dump all these feels on me, then expect me to fall at your feet! That alpha male shit almost ruined everything! Not just the evening, but my job, Kaga. My dream!"

My eyes fog over beneath my glasses.

"As a reporter I have to talk to these people! These people you just embarrassed me in front of! What the hell am I supposed to do if word of our quarrel reaches my boss and I'm fired? I'm barely surviving as it is! If I lose my job I lose everything! This job is something that I've always wanted! "

Kaga looks like I've just kicked him in the ribs. My heart is pounding, my chest hurts, my eyes are tearing up and brain is tying itself in knots. I've lost the reins. I've said too much. I can't take it back. Christ, I wish I could take it back …

Shock starts to tingle in my limbs, sucks out all of my rage.

"Tsu…" he starts, voice hoarse, "you know I'd take care of you, if that happened…"

The anger is gone from me, but the hollow that remains is no better.

My voice sounds distant and quiet to me, though I am thinking about what I say now. Too much. It suddenly becomes horribly clear to me, why I can't tell him how I feel. I don't want to sacrifice and cross that terrifying abyss to commitment. I can't. It scares me more than anything else possibly could.

"I don't want you to support me, Kaga. I won't be content fixing your bento for you every morning like a good little housewife. I'm a male. I want my own life. I need it. Otherwise I'm nothing. "

I leave the apartment in a haze of muted panic, fear, resignation, sadness… all the emotions I can think of, rolled into a ball of constantly twisting confusion. I somehow find my way into the elevator and end up sitting heavily in a corner for the long trip down, before I realise that I've left my shoes, most of my clothes and my keys in Kaga's apartment. But I can't go back for them. I don't have the courage to, after saying what I did. Realising everything that I have.

I close my eyes and try to will it all away.

Author's Note: Whoopies. I didn't actually intend for things to go that abysmally wrong. And here we all were, thinking that Kaga's finally confessed and the world will now be filled with sunshine, roses and regular sex. But it's not that easy. Try not to flame me, ne? Sad endings depress the crap out of me, so I generally try to avoid them. But that doesn't mean I can't throw in a big ol' pile of angst in the middle, now does it? Here's something to dwell on whilst I get around to writing the next chapter, where's Tsutsui gonna crash for the night?


	9. Chapter 9

Author Note: I'm so glad that people liked the last chapter. It took a while to get right, but it seems I did it well enough to convey what I wanted to. Here's another chapter for y'all, freshly written and fiendishly ended. I have come to the conclusion that cliffhangers promote reviews. Forgive me.

The elevator arrives at the ground floor and opens with the sort of friendly noise that only makes the reality of my own unhappiness seem heavier. Part of me can't believe that I'm being so irrationally petty as to glare at the source of the noise, but the rest of me is so blank and numb that it just doesn't seem to matter.

A few minutes, maybe an hour, later and I'm still sitting at the bottom of the elevator, but I can't think of what else to do. My brain isn't working, but I won't allow myself to crawl back to Kaga. I know that if I do, I won't want to leave again. And he won't let me.

Silence has fallen over me in my little metal box, and I bury my face in my knees. Ever pragmatic, my brain attempts to re-boot. Get some movement-orientated thought going. I have to stop just sitting here. I have to do something, or when I start to feel normal again I'll find myself halfway to nowhere, hungry, tired and all alone.

I'm half to my feet when the elevator doors open and someone steps inside.

Pulling my clothing into order and wiping the tears from my face, I try to act like nothing's happening whilst the elevator starts to ascend up its shaft once more.

In true Japanese style, the second occupant of the elevator doesn't say anything. Avoids eye contact and stands facing the door as if nothing's wrong.

The elevator arrives, the person steps out, and the doors close again. I know in his position I could have done the same thing but somehow, being ignored makes me feel worse. The elevator descends again.

At the ground floor, the doors open again and yet another person steps inside, bringing with him the smell of smoke and musk and for a second my heart feels like it twists in my chest. I look up and the vaguely curious face of Ogata-san stares back at me. In one hand is a plastic bag of random groceries.

"Going up?"

I attempt to smile.

"Not sure, really."

There's a moment of silence. He's uncomfortably trying to think of something to say, I can't be bothered trying at all.

"In case you were wondering, I live in this building too."

"Ah."

"The penthouse."

"Ah."

"Do you want to come see it? I have coffee and tissues. You look like you need them both."

I smile weakly again, but it's bordering on genuine this time. Ogata-san's sense of appropriate timing seems better than… his. He's acting sympathetically caring when I need it, and I feel myself drawing towards his offer of company like a moth to a flame.

"Thanks," I reply with a smile and a sniffle, "I'd like that."

* * *

I spent the night sleeping on Ogata-san's couch, after coffee that was spiked with something that was definitely not caffeine. I didn't mind though – something to calm me, to slow my racing brain and the constant replay of the last hour in my head was definitely a good thing. Tissues I used plenty of, the dam broke and I ended up telling Ogata-san everything, from my first meeting with Kaga to our last argument.

A good listener, the blond pro asked few questions and rubbed slow comforting circles on my back the entire time. I felt like a girl mourning her ex-boyfriend. I also felt a lot better for it. The morning found me subdued but calm, still hollow, but it also felt like I could cope with it. The feeling didn't make me feel any happier to be alive, but that was also something that I felt that I could cope with.

Not wanting to wake the go player after he was so nice the night before, I left a note by the supply of fish food for his vast array of aquariums, picked up my discarded jacket and left. The walk to my office was relatively short, then after my request for a day off in which to recover and clean up was granted, I left the office then started the slow walk to my parents house. I suppose that not having the money for the train or bus fare was a good thing – the walk was calming and a good time to think. At around twelve I arrived at my parents house, a little cold, with sore feet and slightly light-headed from lack of food. I'm still standing here. I've realised that I haven't shaved and my hair is somewhat reminiscent of a bush. I idly wish my knight in a leather jacket, mounted on his 'hog' will sweep around the corner and sweep me away from here. Then I remind myself that I've already told him he's not allowed to sweep me away from anything, he doesn't know where I am, even if he did he probably wouldn't want to see me again, and to top it all off, he's the one that told me to come here and do what I'm about to do. After firmly grounding myself again, I walk with false resolution up the steps to my parents' front door and knock.

There's a moment's silence, and the coward in me starts to hope that she's not home. Then the door opens and I'm swept inside in a cloud of maternal concern.

"Hiro-kun! What happened last night! What was with that call?"

She pats me down in a way that reminds me somewhat of someone trying to get dust out of a futon, and also a little of a policeman searching for concealed weapons.

"You've lost weight! And why are you dressed like that?"

My mouth opens and shuts like a fish caught on a hook and dangled just a few metres above salvation. Before I can collect up enough braincells to start answering her rapid-fire questions I'm tugged firmly by a sleeve into the living room and sat down on the couch. My mother looms above me, hands on her hips. Her expression is a steel trap that I feel has already snapped shut around me.

"Well?"

I focus my eyes on my hands, which are clenched on my knees. I don't want to look at her.

"It's about Lara."

"The poor dead girl?"

I pause for a moment, to try and figure out the best way to say this. I have a feeling it won't be well received no matter how I phrase it.

"Lara's not dead. 'Cause she never existed in the first place."

My mother shifts and sits down next to me. She moves instantly from interrogator to matron, gently putting an arm around me.

"What do you mean?"

"I… I haven't had a girlfriend for ages, Mother. I'm not even than interested in girls."

The arm withdraws.

Another pause, then she starts to speak again, with a hesitant, shocked lilt to her voice.

"I know that sometimes it can seem like you're married to your job…"

"It's not that. I think I prefer men. You know…?"

I can't look up at her. I can't. Her body is stiff next to me. She isn't speaking. She's barely putting the effort into breathing.

"Mother, I said –"

"I know what you said," She replies, cutting me off and withdrawing further away from me, smoothing out the front of her dress with hands that I can see are shaking out of the corner of my eyes, "but how can you know? I mean…"

She trails off. I gather the tattered remains of my courage.

"Kaga and I have done it, mother. And it's good. Better than anything that I've done with girls."

"You what? For how long?"

"Since high school."

"That long?" she practically cries, moving from shock to distress, "why didn't you tell us before? Why don't we know?"

Shifting slightly, I raise my head and look at her finally, bunched up on the couch, one hand still smoothing her already wrinkle-free dress and her other hand hovering around her mouth like it's unsure where to settle – covering a sob or covering her eyes.

"We were just kids, Mother. Please try to understand. It just happened. We barely wanted to admit to ourselves that it happened, let alone other people. And our relationship is so dysfunctional we bickered like an old married couple long before we got involved."

I can feel a sad smile trying to tug at the corners of my mouth. All this makes me feel so nostalgic, in a strange corner of my mind. And reaction or not, I feel freer for telling her the truth. It probably won't last.

"Mother?"

She buries her face in her hands. "Alright, Kimihiro. I understand."

"Mother, I'm sorry I never told you before…"

"It's alright. You can leave now."

My hand, halfway to resting on her shoulder, stops abruptly.

"What do you mean?"

"I just need a little time alone. You probably have work, right?"

"Mother…"

She lifts her face and delivers me a tragic smile. She's trying so hard to accept it. But she looks so crushed. "It's alright. Bring Tetsuo-kun around again," she sniffs, "we need to question him about his morals. Second-hand smoke can kill, you know."

The smile is still plastered on, but she's almost acting normal. Christ, I'm so relieved. I feel like a balloon that's suddenly been let go, like all the air, all the pressure is whoosing out of me.

Apologising again, I reach over and hug her tightly. She pats me lightly on the back, and I stand and leave. I don't know what she's truly thinking, but she's trying to support me nonetheless.

I head back down onto the street and pause, hands in my pockets and staring up at the sky. That was my one big idea of the day, and now I don't know what to do. I feel like I don't have an anchor anymore. Nothing to worry about, but nothing to feel good about, either. My feet carry me back to Tokyo Towers, then inside to the elevator. My hand moves on auto-pilot back to the button for the top floor. The doors start to shut, and I lean against the walls for the long trip up.

A hand suddenly catches one of the doors and pushes it back open, and the person I least wanted to see steps inside, bringing with him all the smells that I somehow associate with home – cigarette smoke, musk, cologne, take-out bento and leather.

I press further back, and I begin to understand what people mean when they say they want to go through the wall to escape.

"Tsui?"

I can't find the strength to reply.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: I surprised myself with this chapter. I hadn't initially been planning to write so much in just one scene, but this is how it turned out, in a fit of half-crazed inspiration. The truth is, I wrote the first measly little paragraph about two weeks ago, didn't write a thing, then slowly got hit by exactly what to write this evening. The rest came out in a sudden stream of words, and I haven't really looked them over. This is my first foray into any sort of… depth about this sort of situation, so feedback would be much loved.

Kaga steps forward slowly, absently pulling his bag from his shoulder and discarding it to one side. He has this slightly blank look in his eyes which makes me a little nervous. I can tell there's going to be the modern, male equivalent of a bodice-ripping good time going on if I don't manage to diffuse this already dangerous situation.

When I'm lonely like I am now, I get this funny feeling in my chest. It's like there's a hole, right in the centre of my chest, and it's big, deep and round. Of course, from playing in the sand when I was a kid, I know that if you have a hole like that, it's going to want to cave in on itself. It feels like the hole in my chest has sand rushing in, tumbling down the edges the entire time, but it isn't getting any smaller. And at the same time, I feel like I'm at the bottom of the hole, and I'm slowly getting covered. And when I start to get too desperate, feel too much like I'm going to drown, I tend to reach out towards anyone that'll act as a life raft for me, and I cling to that person and hope that they'll help plug up the hole somehow.

I get this feeling, when I see that look of raw hunger in Kaga's eyes, that he is not just a little inflatable life raft, he's a destroyer, equipped with a gun and everything we could possibly need to clog that hole permanently, if I let him haul me on board. But I know that I shouldn't, and so the sand's coming down even faster than before, tunneling through me and not ending up anywhere, just making the hollow bigger.

So understandably, some subconscious part of me wants to throw myself forward into those familiar, comforting arms and let Kaga do as he will until it all feels better. But the intellectual part of me is still trying to dream about the job I've always wanted, about getting a pay rise and moving out of the trash hole into a nicer apartment, closer to my work place. That part of me is made uncomfortable my Kaga's pushiness, by his urge to claim me like some dog pissing on a tree. So that part of me wants to dodge around this object of masculinity and desire in front of me and beat the doors down until I can get out.

My body ends up in lockdown, staring like a deer caught in headlights as Kaga stalks closer to me in slow motion. It's like one of those nightmares where everything moves really slowly but you can't move at all, and you can tell that doom is getting closer, but you just can't get away

My nerves are all burning away quietly, wanting to be touched, afraid of what it might mean, so I can feel the heat from him, even through my wrinkled suit, as he stops so close to me that all I would need to do is lean forward and we'd be plastered to each other like white on rice. The world goes quiet, and I swear I can feel the blood rushing through my knotted brain, and I know that I can hear the tick of his watch, probably a Rolex or something and his breathing mingling with mine, his slow and even, mine so contrastingly laboured that it's almost comical.

He swallows, I hear the contraction of muscles forcing excess saliva down his throat, and my eyes focus on his Adam's apple as it bobs down then up again. So distracted by the inner workings of his neck that I don't notice his hand moving to cup my cheek until I'm flinching but leaning into it and he's shushing me gently.

I hadn't realised I'd even made a noise.

Some part of me hopes to god that the doors will suddenly open and some little old lady will join us and spoil the mood, but then my brain packs it's bags and leaves me to fend for myself because he's kissing me, and oh Christ, it's the best thing I've ever felt.

Leaning into him, he draws back for a moment to get another breath and picks a better angle with that wonderful innate instinct that we all have.

Brushing inside my coat jacket, his finger glide over my sides then settle with gentle pressure at my waist. Everything he touches tingles, and I start to wonder just how much better it would feel if there wasn't a shirt between his amazing hands and my skin. I instinctively let a trembling breath out through my mouth so as not to end up making any funny noises this early in the game, and Kaga takes the opportunity to lick gently between my lips.

The entire world dissolves and I suddenly don't give a damn about the whos, whats, whens or whys. All that matters is the sensations he's delivering to me with every featherlike caress of fingers, and how to prolong this for as long as possible.

His hands move lower and start kneading my behind and I somehow manage to find the wall behind me and lean against it so I don't have to worry if and when my legs desert me, trailing after my sense of proprietary.

The elevator shudders to a stop and dings, and as I hear the doors whoosh open behind Kaga, reality crashes back down onto me like a ton of sand directly into that hole in my chest.

I stare up at Kaga as he withdraws his mouth from mine and gives me a look which I've seen many times before – the sort of look that promises to find every single thing that makes me scream, then exploit it until neither of us will want to move for a very long time afterwards.

My mind performs a summersault then supplies me with naught but 'guuuh' on which to base my next decision.

Hooking his fingers into the back belt loops of my all too suddenly constricting pants he gives a gentle tug, bringing me forward till we're properly pressed together and I can feel that he's thinking exactly what I am. He shifts his hips gently against mine, and my brain provides me with yet another string of eminently useful gibberish. I turn my face to one side to try and figure out exactly why this is a bad thing again, and he nibbles at my now conveniently placed earlobe. It's like trying to remember why drugs are bad when you're stoned out of your mind.

He steps back again and starts drawing me slowly towards the open doors and to what will eventually lead to a bed – or couch, or floor, right now I don't care where it is so long as it's private, and the lack of actual skin to skin contact gives my brain time to reboot. My mind is still performing loops, but they're slow enough now that I can realise that about five minutes ago this situation qualified as a Bad Thing, capital letter included. I somehow get my feet to stop letting me stumble towards what might be the best afternoon and evening of my life, then I fumble behind me and pry Kaga's hands from their perch then, making a noise which is most likely my suppressed libido's scream of betrayal, and shove Kaga out the door.

I don't follow, and he doesn't react fast enough to stop the elevator doors from closing between us again.

If the world were fair, I would not have to beat the man that I find incredibly attractive off with a stick. If the world were fair, I could be halfway towards a bed and all sorts of interesting activities, and somehow still keep my independence.

But the world's never been very nice to me, it's never been fair, and so I suddenly find myself alone again, crouched back in the corner of the elevator. I curl my knees into a death grip with my arms to try to stop the residual trembles of adrenaline and lust, and idly track my heartbeat as I feel it bump gently against my knee.

The elevator suddenly seems a lot bigger.

My heart suddenly seems a lot smaller.


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: Wow, all that angst gave me the sads. Very happy that people like the torrent of words that was the last chapter, as I wrote that when I myself was feeling very similar to poor little 'Tsui. That's why there's all the spelling mistakes; I got it off my chest, it seemed like a good chapter, so I posted it. Alrighty, so back to the matter at hand. You'll have to forgive me for making this chapter so short after such a long wait for the blasted thing, but I just needed to sort of get those two idiots to a certain point before I go and do something that'll probably confuse us all. Watch out for a long chapter next time, and quite a big change. Once again, enjoy.

Az

It takes most of the rest of the trip to the penthouse for me to see that Kaga's discarded bag is still sitting by the door. It's a pretty inconspicuous thing – a thick, faded gray canvas book bag, filled to the brim and slightly warped with the sheer amount of books in it. The flapped over cover is covered with faux travel patches, and the deliberate shabby look to it probably cost several thousand yen more than it reasonably should have. Shabbily trendy, just like it's owner. He's probably who they had in mind when they made these bags, someone that looks like he just came out of a bar, but intelligent, well off… and a complete asshole. Who said he could kiss me? Who said he could drive me absolutely crazy?

My hand snatches forward and grabs Kaga's bag, and a few seconds later I'm rifling pettily through its contents. Three hard backed text books with names alone that give me a headache, two note books that I flick through and see are written in entirely in pencil, a schedule book which I had previously never known existed, his mobile phone and his wallet. I flip open his schedule book to check out Kaga's life. Let's see… today he had two classes and a tutorial. What did he write about last night?

'Movies with tute group'.

There's two lines through that.

'Tsui's party thing – buy a new suit'

I close the schedule book and stick it back in with its brethren. He blew off movies with friends for my lame dinner with go players? He bought that metor strike-proof suit just to impress a bunch of nerds? I feel my face heat up slightly as my subconscious pointedly replays Kaga's confession to me on audio. Correction, did he buy that suit to impress me?

If this was a movie, Kaga's journal of innermost thoughts would also be in his bag, and I'd read some heart-breaking, relationship repairing thing that he's written in it in a fit of passion and desperation, then I'll throw myself into his arms and we'll ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after. Then it's become a fucking musical. I can see Disney sweeping up the rights to it already. Geez, all it needs is some all-singing all-dancing chinaware and for one of us to be female.

The elevator opens again, and I scoot to my feet and out to Ogata-san's apartment, taking his bag with me. I'm still feeling petty, annoyed and lonely, despite learning that Kaga's willing to blow people off and spend a ridiculous amount of money in order to look good to me. I tap on Ogata's door and sling the bag over my shoulder, so as not to pull my arm out it's socket through the sheer weight of the bag.

Ogata-san lets me in and we exchange the usual pleasantries about our respective days. I can see his perpetually calm eyes sweeping over my slightly more rumpled-than-before clothing and since my face still feels rather warm, I'm fairly sure I'm still flushed. Can he tell I just did some heavy making out in the elevator?

If he does or not I don't know, because he asks if I'd like some tea anyway, and I settle on his couch. I don't know why I feel so at home in his apartment. I suppose it's rather rude.

Dumping Kaga's bag on the coffee table, I call into the kitchen and inquire to see if there's anything to do to help. Ogata tells me he can handle it by himself, and I sit back to try and sort out my brain.

Suddenly the bag jumps slightly and some song that I've never heard starts spilling out of a set of tiny speakers. I open Kaga's bag again and take out his cell phone. Flicking it open, I see that the person calling is… myself?

Why is he on my phone?

With a quick and furtive glance around, I get up and practically run to the bathroom. I close the door behind me and settle in a corner by the bath.

"Hello?"

"Tsui, can I have my bag back? I have homework to do."

"Who says I have your bag?"

"You just answered my phone, dipshit."

"Touché."

"Retard."

I check my watch and tap a foot idly against the tiled floor.

"I'm busy right now."

"You're in the bathroom, I can tell from the echo. You're not going to be busy in the bathroom unless you're wanking or you've had some serious trouble with laxitives."

A spike of irritation drives into my brain.

"I'm washing my hair."

"I don't hear a shower."

"I'm in the bath."

"Who washes their hair in the bath? That's inconsiderate. Get your ass over here now, lover-boy."

I scowl, despite the fact he can't see it. "Call me that again and I'll flush your mobile."

I can feel the wince over the phone line. There's a pause, then he changes the subject again.

"Look, Tsui, I know you're probably constructing a voodoo doll of me in your spare time, but could you just put away your claws for a second and bloody well listen to me?"

Some super-human ability of mine comes into play, and I lasso myself back from completely blowing my top. In fact, the next thing is say is sugarcoated.

"Right, I'm flushing your phone now, have a nice day."

"Wait. Tsui, seriously. I need my books. We'll exchange. I've still got your keys an' shit, so if you give me my book bag, I'll give you that."

I mull over the offer for a few seconds. "Fine. We meet in the elevator. We hand over the bags at the same time, and there will be no touching."

Kaga sighs. "How long will it take you to get there?"

I check my watch again and try to estimate how long it will take to go all the way down then up again, to give Kaga the impression that I'm not actually staying a few floors above him. "Give me five minutes."

"That all?"

Shit. Busted anyway.

"I'm crashing at a friend's place … It's not too far."

Kaga grunts, and it doesn't sound too happy. "Fine."

I hang up before I can dig myself in any deeper.


	12. Chapter 12

Yall are very lucky that Im a nice person and cant survive without writing. I wrote this chapter whilst I could have been paying more attention to my adorable host sister pretending to hit my adorable host brother with a large white radish, so I hope yall are very grateful and give me lots of reviews for this chapter :). This chapter is really the start of a new arc of this story. It took me a little while and several false starts to get right. I hope no one minds that Ive taken a new path, I think it should open doors to all sorts of interesting new stuff and things. Enjoy, this, whilst I enjoy my holiday.

- Az

I'm sitting there, and there's a blank screen in front of me.

I know what you're thinking, what you're expecting, but I'm not actually staring at it. Instead I'm making an effort towards cleaning under my nails with the edge of a ruler, and I am going to pretend that this is a step up. Staring is what the desperate and unprofessional do.

Sometimes, I frustrate myself. Things that should be simple to achieve and complete my mind has a complete psycho over, and skills come and go with the wind. My brain can be a very temperamental thing; if I try to get anything useful from it when it's not interested, it throws its itsy mental arms in the air, then picks up a picket sign with a slogan across it about shorter work hours and gives me a headache. Some call it writer's block, I call it a massive pain in somewhere rather important, as I have deadlines to meet. When it lasts too long, in the business they call it a 'slump', and from experience I've started to notice certain changes in people when they're near someone with it.

If you happen to be the writer/ reporter with the infliction in question, people tend to occasionally visit your cubicle and pat you on the shoulder sympathetically. But they watch you like they might secretly think it's contagious. Like they might watch an animal in the zoo. Their eyes just scream 'better you than me, mate', though possibly I only see it that way because I am in the middle of a 'slump', and am getting thoroughly sick of those visits. So I'm trying to ignore the screen and am acting the picture of casualness, in an attempt to fool both myself and the other reporters in the Weekly Go office, though I have a sneaking suspicion I'll stab the next person that even tries to speak to me with my handily placed ruler.

Week two of the slump, and there's an evil little voice at the back of my head that is screwing up my equilibrium even more. Like a bug caught in a spider's web, it thrashes around and asks 'what if you don't recover from it?' and I can feel its effects everywhere else that it is possible to feel it. I know I tend occasionally towards nervousness to the point of paranoia, but this has made me even more highly-strung than usual. I'm almost at the stage where I start to wonder if there might actually be something _wrong_ with me. I can't say it's fun.

I place the ruler back down on my desk, then check my wrist-watch, stopping for a moment as I notice a scratch on the screen. About three years ago, I would have shrugged philosophically and ignored it, but this watch is new, and cost me enough to be able to pay off about three small independent nations' debts. No more cheap and crappy watches for Tsutsui Kimihro, it's expensive and remarkably fragile all the way, now. In a way, I miss having a smaller income than the one that I currently have. When I saved my pennies and got something good, it really seemed like a big achievement – something to be savoured. I had worn hundred yen shop socks and not worried about holes. When they wore out, I bought a new pair. It was somehow less worrying. Simpler. But I suppose, now that I've had a pay rise, a been given a larger desk by the window and am actually _supposed_ to be (though I'm not, right now) handing in several articles per week, I can afford quite a few things I would not have been able to otherwise. Sure, no Ferrari, hell, still no car, but when you live in a city with such a huge and somewhat terrifying transportation network as Tokyo, a car isn't an essential. I live in an apartment building where the elevator actually works. My bed and my kitchen are not in the same room. I feel this is a change for the better.

My overtuned senses go on edge as co-worker pauses by my desk behind me. I feel myself bristle, and wait for the inevitable glance between my computer screen and my face before actually starting a conversation, which comes just when I thought it would.

Yes, that's right, still nothing. Got anything to say about it? Huh? I've got a ruler and I'm not afraid to use it.

He seems to get the message when my hand absently grips the ruler again. I can feel the edges of it digging into the palms of my hands, and I think the look on my face cuts off the comment before it can start, as he just forces a smile, as one might when trying to tell a terminal cancer patient things can only get better, and then he tells me to check my email before fleeing.

I turn in my chair and touch my computer for the first time since booting it up and starting Word this morning, going into the start menu and opening the company mail program. Logging in, my computer makes a few thinking noises at me, then tells me I have four new messages. One is spam (no, I don't want a supply of your viagra), one is chain mail (no, I have ignored these before and not died, don't think I'll start caring now), an invitation from some person I occasionally eat lunch with to a party (an excuse for everyone to get drunk, oh joy), and also a link to an article from one of the main daily newspapers. I click on the link and watch the page open.

**Go Legend Sues Writer for Plagarism**

The title loads before the rest of the article, and I fill in the time waiting for it by staring at the text, mouth slightly ajar.

It suddenly occurs to me that I don't even care who is suing who, I want this article. I want to write this up, I want to follow this case, I want to be the one that interviews all the key players. I want the front pages this will bring me.

I snap back to reality and reading the article, scanning it for the relevant names, so I can go press my case to the editor.

'Touya Meijin, retired professional Go player, winner of several titles and author of several self-help Go books, this morning announced his suit against author Nakamura Shuuji over the content of his recently published work The Path to the Hand of God...'

Shoving back my chair, I'm halfway to Amano-san's office before my chair has finished bouncing violently off the folding screen behind it. The screen shakes and the person on the other side makes a startled noise, but by that point I'm already through the door to my editor's office.

Amano-san looks up from the phone and gives me a look that tells me to halt in whatever holy mission I may be on, as this phonecall is much more important.

Formal language flowing freely, he eventually hangs up, then blinks at me like he had only just noticed that I had stormed into his office.

"Why Tsutsui-kun, I'm beginning to think you're psychic. I was just about to call you in."

I shift restlessly from foot to foot. This was not what I had come in for.

"Yes, sir?"

"I've just arranged an interview for you with Touya Akira tomorrow morning at eleven. He's the one that noticed the similarities between the two books, and I want you to sponge him for all the information he's worth."

My shifting stops abruptly.

"Uh?"

Amano-san gives me a testy look. "An interview. I was hoping this might be what you need to get you back into writing again."

Pausing a few moments to try and expel enough of the glee from my voice that I can, I run a hand through my hair. "I was hoping that would be the case as well."

"Good. Now, I was hoping – "

"I want this case. All of it."

Amano-san gives me a look, like he's trying to sum up my intentions. "Are you sure? This isn't going to be easy. Or small. It might drag on for a while."

"I own all Touya Meijin's work and have read Nakamura Shuuji's as well. I can do this, I know I can."

Raising an eyebrow, my editor rests his chin on his knitted fingers, elbows braced pensively on the desk. "If you think you can handle it all, I'll trust you with it. I suppose you're the best person for the job, what with all your inside links. Touya Meijin's son, Nakamura's lawyer…"

I blink. "Nakamura's lawyer?"

He nods. "That boy you used to know. Kaga Tetsuo."

I unintentionally impersonate a fish gasping for water. When I speak again my voice sounds strangely high-pitched. "Is he, just?"

Kaga Tetsuo. When was the last time I thought about that particular chapter of my life? I'd like to say it the last time was three years ago, the last time I saw him, but I'm afraid it was much more recent than that. He seems to pop into my mind when I drink, which might be one of the reasons why I don't like to too often. Or it might be the reason why, despite my misgivings, I still do it occasionally.

Amano nods decisively, bringing me out of my shock/Kaga induced stupor. "Maybe it won't be too hard for you, since you'll be working closely with people that you know."

Or maybe it'll be one of the most difficult things that I've done so far.

There's a moment of strangled silence, then I bow low and say my thanks, backing out of the room. A minute later I'm back at my desk, staring at the article that's still up. I think I'm out of my slump. But where I'm headed now, I don't know.


	13. Chapter 13

Author note: Have I mentioned that I love my reviewers? They're a lot more dedicated to this than I've been lately. It's cause I'm still receiving reviews about when the next update will be that I sat my slack-ass down this morning and wrote. I'm really bad at finishing stories, but it's with your continued support (and nagging) that I've managed to continue updating, even if it is sporadic at best. Love you guys. Oh yeah;

**Important Notice**: I'm looking for a beta reader! Someone that knows grammar and spelling, loves Hikaru no Go and wants to help me with where this is all going and wants to read the chapters before everyone else :) Give me a buzz if you're interested – my email address should be up on my profile.

"And what is your response to the comment that you're using this as a chance to regain some of the spotlight you left after retirement, and revive your book sales?"

A brief moment of silence, and I seasoned reporter, feel like crawling under the couch to get a solid object between myself and the father and son I'm interviewing. One is my friend, the other is my idol. Both are very nice people. But being confronted by the two in traditional Japanese dress and business expressions is sort of like standing being stared down by a pair of angry bulls.

"I have nothing to say to that."

I give it a second, incase he decides he wants to add anything more.

"Then what do you think would inspire a person to copy the work of another and pass it off as their own?"

The elder Touya leans back ever so slightly and crosses his arms. The overall effect is contemplative, but I can't say that it does much to dispel my nerves. Thankfully I'm better at hiding it these days.

"I don't suppose that self-help books on Go are particularly popular. The book that he has chosen was my first, written when I was not yet a title holder. It was not widely distributed, and is therefore the least successful and famous of my books. I suppose he thought that he could get away with it, on virtue of that alone."

I nod and make a quick glance to the tape recorder on the table.

"What aspects of the novel first prompted you to believe that Nakamura Shuuji's work was breaching copyright?"

Akira shifts forward a little on the couch. "Naturally, I have been reading my father's books since I first developed an interest in Go. I admire my father's sentence structure and the way that he can make complicated problems easy to understand," a shy glance to his father, then the incredibly sincere eyes are focused back against mine, and I mentally reassure myself that we're going for drinks after the interview, "so I noticed when Nakamura's work used the same examples as my father's, but in different order."

I tip my head to one side slightly. "However, one could say that the problems used are well known amongst the Go community, and often used in teaching basic concepts."

Akira nods. "That is true, however the diagrams used to illustrate and explain the problems are also the same. Text boxes are in the same place, and the only thing that has been changed is sentence order."

I scrawl a note to myself about checking that out for myself.

"On closer inspection, many sentences originally composed by my father are present in Nakamura's work, and have not been cited."

I nod and make another note. Looks like I'll be rereading late into the night again, with a highlighter in hand. The interview continues.

At the end, I pack all my notes and instruments away and attempt casual conversation with Touya Meijin around. I think I'd do a more convincing job with the emperor in the room.

Akira and I leave together whilst his father goes back to his house, parting from us at the train station. We attract stares and I keep my head down – it's not every day that a pretty young man in formal robes hops on the local train. We deliberately don't talk about the case.

"So, how are you and Hikaru going?"

Akira shrugs slightly. "He's still an obstinate twit, and I still put up with him past the point of reason."

"So… pretty well, then?"

"Oh yes. We're thinking of getting a puppy."

"Would you have time to give it the attention it needs?"

He stares at me for a few moment, expression flat. Oh good, I'm in for it now. Whenever he's being sarcastic he looks like that.

"As we have such pressing daily schedules."

Oh yes. Professionally plays a board game. You don't go into an office to do that, only tournaments, and those are hardly a daily endeavor.

I duck my head slightly, ears feeling a little uncomfortably warm. "Sorry, it's my default question for people looking to get a pet."

He nods and goes back to staring out the windows lining the side of the train. Aparently he accepts that as a valid excuse for being obtuse. The train rattles on, the two of us maintaining comfortable silence.

There's a marked difference between going out with Hikaru and Akira, and just going out with Akira. It's like two different people share the same skin. Around Hikaru he attempts to maintain his dignity, but usually ends up having flailing arguments about nothing in particular. He sulks. He glares. He attempts to attack his lover, and I view the whole thing as a free show, and feel a little guilty about it.

When it's just the two of us… I like to think that going out with other people is good for Akira. He might need a few hours to calm down and gain his composure again before throwing himself back into living with the one person that makes him lose his cool. The situation might otherwise end in homicide, and that would be a rather uncomfortable report for me to write.

At the next stop we get off, and make our way for the group's favourite sake shop. It's where we happen to go to celebrate after successful tournaments, or just when we feel like catching up. Sometimes Waya and Isumi join us. Sometimes I go with Ogata-san.

It's a pretty small shop, run and owned by the same man – a middle-aged man with a gut that says that he enjoys what he sells as much as his clients. He greets us by name and we settle down in our usual booth and order the usual thing.

I look around at the familiar scenery and begin to notice that particular feeling when someone's looking at you. I glance at Akira to confirm it and he seems to take that as attention achieved. "So, how are you handling it?"

"The case? Well, the trial hasn't started yet, so basically all I need to do now is research."

"That's not what I meant. I know who Nakamura's lawyer is."

"Oh."

"How are you handling it?"

A vague shrug and my eyes wander to the window again. "Well enough. It's not like I have to deal with him directly… much. And anyway, that was a long time ago," I pause whilst our drinks arrive, "and he's probably moved on. Won't care where I happen to be."

"Moved on? Just like you have?"

He rests his head idly in the palm of his hand and watches me as I stutter for a reply. My relationships for the past three years have all been homosexual, and all been short-lived. A sweet business man that I had absolutely no real interest in, someone I met whilst drinking who was only interested in the sex, and a string of other hopefuls, after things I couldn't give them. "I'm not that bad." I finally reply weakly.

"For a while there, I'd ask how one boyfriend went a week after learning his name, and you'd be with someone else."

My face goes hot and I drag the warmed bottle of sake towards me across the table. "I haven't been with anyone for a year, now." There's more defensive snap to my voice than I had intended.

"And that's just unhealthy." He calmly takes the bottle off me before I spill it across the table and pours for the both of us.

There's about half a minute of silence.

"I have to support my father in this case, so I really don't have the time to be worrying about whether or not you're going to be having an emotional breakdown behind our backs." He looks up at me, with those sincere eyes. "I know you, Kimihiro. Think it through before you start this, or you'll just end up floored by what actually happens.

I feel a little surge of something warm in my chest. He called me by my _first_ name. He's concerned about me. My _friend_ is concerned for my wellbeing. When was the last time I actually considered myself to have friends?

I reply with a small smile. "I'll give it a shot, mother."

A slightly surly nod. We get on with our drinks and our evening.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:** I can hear the startled exclamations from here. Yes, I have updated, almost ridiculously quickly. The novelty of having a beta reader has left me all happy, and I had a scene that was just begging to be written out. We meet dear Kaga again in this chapter. Many thanks to be reviewers, and to my beta reader, Albatross. Love and virtual snuggles to you all.

My eyes aren't so much sandy as padded with some dreadful combination of cotton and rubber. But the first of my articles is finished, and Amano-san is reading the edited version of my first article on the case – background information, exactly what the Touyas believe is (they seem to have a pretty firm case to me), evidence towards both sides. I have quotes from an interview with the incredibly stiff-necked and smooth lawyer that the Touya family hired sprinkled through as well. I say nothing and deliberately don't rub my eyes as he hums and haas over my work.

"Well Tsutsui, I'd say this is going on the front page."

A brief jolt of pleasure – when was the last time I heard that? I smile to myself as he scans over the last few lines. "There's just something… missing."

My pleasure takes a hit and stumbles slightly. A slightly bewildered: "Sir?"

"You look biased. Where's the other lawyer?"

"Well, uh, I didn't get time to contact him …"

"Are you kidding, he's your friend, isn't he? Used to visit the office from time to time."

"Well, yes …"

He looks up at me, obviously not willing to take any excuses. "You have enough time to change the article before it goes to press, if you interview him today."

I feel doom closing in around me, and I nod dumbly. "I suppose you're right."

* * *

Kaga's office is nice – nicer than I expected. I gaze around at the soft lighting of the reception, taking in the designer waiting chairs and shiny desk, the attractive young woman behind it who looks up attentively as I enter.

What had I been expecting, then? An office reminiscent of his apartment, the last time I saw it? Posters of half-naked women on the walls and cigarette burns on the carpet? It would hardly present a good image to the public. I zone back down to earth as I realise that the receptionist has been trying to get my attention.

"Can I help you, sir?" Her voice has an uncertain lilt to it – this is not the first time she's asked me that.

I react before thinking, striding over to the desk and offering my business card in greeting. "Tsutsui Kimihiro from the Weekly Go magazine. I was just wondering if Kaga-san is available?"

A doubtful little frown etches across her doll's face for a moment. "He's in, but…"

A small gap, and the reporter leaps upon it, reassuring smile out. "It's alright; I just need a moment of his time."

I move quickly past her desk and open the door to the main office, stepping in and closing it after myself before she can react enough to complain. The little moment of thrill at doing something not necessarily right passes and only then do I look up to the office I've closed myself into.

I must say, it's hard to notice your surroundings when someone's glaring at you that powerfully. It's not so much a hostile look as a piercing one, but the effect is the same.

He slowly turns his power-chair away from the large window behind his desk and towards myself and the desk. Silence. What do you say to your ex when you see him again for the first time in three years? Why did I not think about this beforehand?

I work myself up to a fake-smile and pleasant sounding "Good afternoon, Kaga-san."

He inclines his head slightly, unsettling yellow-brown eyes still on me. "I heard you'd be covering the case. I've been expecting you to come here for a while now," is his measured reply.

"Well, the office has been a busy place, and I'm starting to help edit as well, now."

He nods again. Neutral acceptance, to match his perfectly schooled expression. Were poker faces one of the later courses for his degree? The last time I met him, he hadn't had nearly this much restraint.

A second or two of awkward silence, as he's still throwing me off by staring.

"I was wondering if I could have a moment of your –"

"Do you have an appointment?"

A pause and a surprised blink from my end. "I what?"

Slight lowering of perfectly shaped red eyebrows. "An appointment. I don't see people for any business unless the party in question has one."

Was that deliberately condescending, or am I just reading too much into this? Either way, that little spike of irritation that he so effortlessly rams into my otherwise calm existence is back, and I snap back before I can stop myself: "Because you are clearly otherwise occupied right now."

The eyebrows go down another fraction and his eyes narrow defensively. "This is my lunch break."

I glance at his lunch-free desk and deliberately raise an eyebrow. "How is it?"

"How's what?"

"Your lunch. It looks ever-so healthful."

Now he definitely looks irked. "I had lunch earlier with my client, _however_ this is still my scheduled lunch break," he snaps in reply.

"Poor planning on your secretary's part, then."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come back once you have an appointment."

Now we're both irritated.

I turn back to the door, but instead of leaving, I merely poke my head out. "Excuse me?"

The secretary looks up from her own lunch. "Yes?"

"Is Kaga-san free next hour?"

The wheels of Kaga's chair move in the carpet behind me, but the oblivious young woman's fingers are already flying across her keyboard. "Yes sir, he is."

"Good. Can you put me down, then?"

A glance at my business card and I'm efficiently added before Kaga can reach the door and protest.

I turn around again and Kaga's about an inch away from me, glaring down from his superior height. I stare blandly back up, strangely unfazed. "And now I am in your schedule."

I become aware of his body-heat about a second before he steps back to a proper distance and heads once more for his desk. As he goes I hear him sullenly mutter: "Fine."

I have the upper hand. In order to keep my tenuous grip on the argument, I take the spare seat by the door, placing myself by one of his bookcases and in his line of sight.

I am patience itself, and he entertains himself for the rest of the hour by stoically ignoring me. He fiddles with papers, taps at a few keys of his computer's keyboard and generally pretends to be busy, and I watch him, piecing together the differences between the Kaga I knew and the Kaga I'm currently having a professional and incredibly childish fight with.

I was correct on one ground – he's wearing suits now, and they look good on him. It doesn't make me nearly as guilty as I thought it would to take in his trim figure and wide shoulders and feel a rush of pride that _this_ is the man that used to want me. My eyes stray to the nape of his neck before I glance away as he looks up at me – One hell of a man indeed.

Yes, I still want this man – I never stopped wanting him, but there is a difference between wanting and wanting to spend your life with.

A suspicious glare from him – No, I wasn't checking you out now finish your lunch break already.

The clock seems to move extra slowly, but I keep up the pretence of nonchalance until the second hand hits the hour exactly, then stand again. "Now, Kaga-san –"

"Sorry, I don't discuss my clients' cases with the media."

My jaw unhinges for a moment. "So I…" It takes a moment to work past the almost overwhelming urge to swear at him. My voice sounds somewhat dim, through the rushing of blood in my ears. "Does this make your official comment 'no comment'?"

He laces his fingers together on his desktop. "I suppose so."

I make a show of getting out a notepad and recording this carefully down.

"Have a nice day, Tsutsui-san."

"Oh, I shall." And I'm also going to kick your motorbike over.

I bow and he inclines his head from his desk, and I turn and head out of his office.

* * *

Amano looks from the newest version of my article to my face. "That's it?"

"I even made an appointment, but …" I trail off, as there's really no need to finish the sentence.

"Tsutsui, I want honesty here. Have you and Nakamura's lawyer had an argument?"

"Yes sir," I pause to swallow, "Around three years ago."

"Well that's just not good enough!"

I flinch at his tone of voice, but nothing prepares me for what follows.

"I'm organising a lunch between you two – Tsutsui, you're my connections guy, I can't have you just dropping key players from your friendship circle without considering the consequences!"

Weakly: "It's a little more complicated than that…"

You see, he's my ex. I left him, the same day that he said he loved me. And this is after sort of being together since the start of high school. He's not the most forgiving sort, and I did sort of jump up and down on his heart. I left him so the relationship couldn't interfere with my career – and oh how the irony is kicking me now.

There's no way in hell I can explain that to my editor.

"Just play nice, Tsutsui. We want him on our side again."

_Now_ he tells me.


	15. Chapter 15

Many thanks as usual to my dear beta reader, the Albatross. Without whom these chapters would have a good deal less coherency and polish. Also plenty of thanks to my readers. You guys are awesome. I end up reading through reviews when I get stuck on a particular phrase or scene; some cheerful support (and threats) go a long way. Sorry about the lateness, as usual. Life seems to have this way of occupying my time. Hope you enjoy, comments appreciated.

He's fashionably late. Of course. What better way is there to show your overwhelming superiority and contempt than being shown to our reserved table twenty minutes past when we were supposed to meet?   
Kaga looks effortlessly slick again – this time it only throws me off my game until he's seated and I've had the time until then to ogle and get used to it already. Amano chooses a nice restaurant – twentieth floor on the outskirts of Ginza. Traditional Japanese food and a view out over what can be seen of the Tokyo skyline through an average day's smog. What could possibly make this a more pleasant outing? 

From the look Kaga gives me when he sits down, I could use some slightly more friendly company.

He unfolds his napkin and lays it gracefully across his lap. Not a mention of lateness. Nor a greeting. Aside from the introductory glare, he hasn't even looked at me. This is going to get old. In fact, it already is old. I decide to cut through the faux-polite bullshit before we get embroiled in another session of civil weight-throwing.

"My boss wants us on speaking terms before we leave this restaurant."

Raising an eyebrow at me, Kaga finishes getting settled. Then there's no more time for words, or even significant glances, as the waiter arrives to order our drinks. A smile to the waiter from both of us, and then Kaga orders a bottle of wine to share. An expensive one. Then he starts looking through the rest of the menu, completely ignoring me for a few seconds more.

"Speaking terms, was it?" Kaga finally clarifies with a bright smile.

It's not a very comforting smile. In fact, it makes me rather uneasy.

"…Yes."

Putting the menu back down on the table, he braces his hands over it, fingers knitted together.

"Alright then, let's talk."

You could give yourself a concussion on the wall of silence that settles between us. I glance to my menu as I try to think of anything to say.

"How's your father?"

"Just fine."

"Are you still living in Tokyo Towers?"

"That's right."

Tell me, does 'speaking terms' mean I can justifiably punch you? There is a difference between conversation and a trial of wills.

"And business?"

That one took a bit of doing, in order to unclench my jaw enough to speak.

There's that bright smile again, that I'm starting to want to rip off his face.

"Now, now, Tsutsui-san; you should know by now that I don't discuss my professional going ons with reporters."

Was that patronising?

Is he really being that much of a deliberate asshole?

I stand and excuse myself to the bathroom before I lose whatever is left of my cool.

Ah, the cool porcelain of a sink, what a reassuring weight you are. Compulsively washing my hands lets me sink into a calmer frame of mind. I'm still wondering what it would be like to stab someone with a pair of chopsticks, but I do it much more clinically than I did before.

Imagining the arcs of spurting blood keeps me civil-looking as I reappear from my retreat and sit down opposite Kaga as he pours me a somewhat large glass of wine. Thanking him and smiling like he's done me a favour, a smooth my suit jacket and some dry little corner of my brain intones 'round two, fight!'

"So how's your little magazine?"

"Newspaper."

"Right. So how's your little newspaper?"

"Sales are up."

"How wonderful."

My Compulsion to hit him is rising.

I can practically see the wall between myself and the Kaga that I used to know. I can see it in his eyes; he's angry at me. These smouldering little sparks are present in the depths of his gold-brown eyes, but most people would get caught on the charming smile he's throwing out. I suppose former intimacy gives me a greater ability to read past the shiny mask he's made. I get a sudden pang of loss for the messy, sarcastic rebel I had known like the back of my hand. I've never had anyone else get so deep under my skin. And he still knows how to piss me off.

Leaning forward slightly across the table, I try to put my heart in my voice.

"Look… Tetsuo, I'm sorry for what I did to you."

He almost seems to recoil.

"No you're not," he suddenly hisses back, as if trying to get the intensity of a yell into it without the volume. "If you were, you would have said something before your shitty little game force you to."

We stare at each other over the table, Kaga opposite with daggers in his glare and myself only vaguely capable of noting that my jaw is ajar.

"I didn't know."

As quickly as his anger emerged, it's hidden back behind the pleasant façade of the lawyer. He clears his throat and has a sip of his wine before swirling it absently around the glass. I can't help but notice the grace of his long fingers.

"You blamed it all on me. Not that asshole that –"

"I was scared."

"You were rabid."

"Scared!"

"Fucking insane!"

All of this at a loud whisper through the forest of glasses and cutlery. For a second, things almost feel alright. Silence settles between us as we collect our thoughts and memories.

"I've missed … I've missed your company," I finally admit.

"I'm engaged."

He doesn't look at me when he says it, but there's a finality in his tone that rings true. My innards clench in shock and maybe a moment too late, I try to smile.

"That's great. I'm glad for you."

I suppose it would be polite to ask what she's like, but I really don't want to know. Over the next few minutes, we both manage to consume a good deal of our glasses. The wine goes down like vinegar.

"To… a girl?"

It's about all I can think of to say. Kaga nods in reply, jaw set. Mumbling 'good for you' again, I find something fascinating to stare at about my napkin. Nice white linen. I try counting threads.

The waiter hovers pointedly until we half-heartedly order something.

"Kaga?"

"Mm?"

"When's the wedding?"

"We're not sure, yet."

"Oh."

Now we both stare at our napkins.

"I'm glad you," I clear my throat uncomfortably, "moved on."

"So am I."

Somehow, this makes me feel terrible.

"I didn't want to hurt you. It just all happened before I could think."

Across from me, my ex-best friend, ex-lover, snorts derisively. I keep my head down. The meal arrives and I stay focussed on the plate until it's over and he stands to leave without a word.

"Kaga," I call out, nearly surprising myself as well. He turns, almost reluctantly, and watches as I frown, attempting to verbalize something I don't quite understand.

Eventually, feebly, "Don't worry."

"I won't," he replies with an almost fierce look, before turning his back again and leaving the restaurant.

I'm left feeling like I've fucked something up, but I'm unsure what. The waiter lingers nearby till I charge the bill to my company card and I drift out of the restaurant and back towards the office.

Confused. That's about the only way I can sum up my emotions. I recall once musing that I never wanted to see Kaga's sword-like tongue turned against me, but here I am; my old protector now views me as the enemy, the source of all his woe and problems. It's probably true. The last time I saw him he was telling me he loved me, and my brain can't seem to grasp that several years have passed since our passionate… something, leading to a fundamental confusion that has nothing to do with what I logically know.

'Mm,' is the best answer I can give when Amano asks if I patched things up with Kaga-san, and I spend the rest of the afternoon playing go online and staring distantly out the window. Something's brewing, and it makes me uncomfortably disconnected as my subconscious works towards an epiphany and my conscious struggles to keep up.

I barely notice the uninspiring meal I eat for dinner, then stare blankly at the television, pretending that I'm actually enthralled by the banal happenings on the latest game show.

Hitting the sack early finds me staring at the play of ambient light on the ceiling until well after midnight, and I wake up in the morning deeply dissatisfied with what sleep I had.

I only realize it's the weekend when I'm halfway through my first mug of instant coffee and the host of my usual radio station starts on about weekend traffic.

My first set of articles went on sale today. I suppose I should be interested to see how our newspapers' special edition is selling, but all my enthusiasm seems to have leaked out of me since my lunch with Kaga.

I feel like trash.

It plunges me back into the same frame of mind I had been in when I cried in the bottom of the elevator, but this time I'm less sure that I should have left him behind. I didn't realize how it would affect him. I start to recall all the good times we had together, those times when all I could see was his face, when I had it all and all we were doing was talking across the kitchen table. I suddenly miss him like a severed limb.

Why is it you never realize what you have until it's too far gone to retrieve?


End file.
